The Program
by Salome Weil
Summary: Years after the war, Ginny convinces Hermione to participate in a program designed to help victims and prisoners of the war, but help isn't exactly the right word for what happens behind closed doors. Can Hermione find peace despite her past and present?
1. Throwing Shadows

**I don't own Harry Potter at all, in any form, and make no money off this fic. **

**AN: Ok, this is so cliched and tripe-like, but I was bitten by the bug about an hour before my bedtime and it's now an hour past my bedtime and here it is. I was musing over the rash of Victim!Hermione fanfics out there and I got to thinking about the tables being turned. I was inspired to experiment with the idea, anyway, so here is the first chapter. Let me know if you like it or not. It holds loads of promise, I think, and I'll probs keep working on it. (Why do I keep doing this to myself?) I hope you enjoy this small taste! **

* * *

"This is disgusting," Hermione declared, wrinkling her nose as she took in her surroundings.

"Really? You think so?" Ginny replied as she wiped her boots on the doormat. She stepped in beside her best girl friend and closed the door behind them. "I guess it seems that way…"

"They're being treated like strays, Ginny," Hermione replied. She stuck her hands in her pockets and frowned. "It's inhuman."

"They are strays," Ginny pointed out. "And what they did is inhuman. Isn't this only fair, really? Oh, wait. You were behind SPEW. Never mind. You've always been a bit of a softie, haven't you?"

"It's not a question of being soft," Hermione exclaimed, "it's a question of ethics and principles! Just because they treated others inhumanly- or would have, given half the chance, doesn't mean we should turn around and do the same to them."

"What would you rather happened, then? Just kill them all and be done with it?" Ginny's intelligent brown eyes took in her friend's red face and frizzing hair with pity.

"I…oh, hell, let's just get this over with," Hermione finally bit off, closing her eyes briefly. She took a deep breath. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"Think of it as reparations," Ginny murmured as the two witches began climbing the stairs in front of them.

"I'd rather not think of it at all," Hermione whispered in return. "Please, Ginny- please. Let's not talk anymore. Let's just do what we came here to do."

Their silence after that was broken as a doorway ahead of them opened and a man came to stand at the top of the stairs above them. Backlit as he was, it was hard to tell at first that man before them was none other than Sirius Black, of Black's House for Men. It was the kinder title, anyway, for what was known as a halfway home to the rest of Britain, but what was called a brothel to all of Wizarding England. Not that it was even that much. Hermione still wasn't sure why Sirius had agreed to run such an enterprise- a jail, essentially, for the former Death Eaters, criminals, and cowards of the last Wizarding War. A pound where the recently neutered inmates could await adoption or death, depending on what the Wizengamot's sentence had been. Of course, Azkaban had been destroyed, so there wasn't anywhere else to send them. What was _supposed_ to happen was when a man went there (or to any other such establishment) after having sentence passed on his head; if the ruling were light enough then he might spend his years in servitude to a deserving witch or wizard; who had (also at the ruling of the Wizengamot) _earned _the right to such a slave. Both Hermione and Ginny qualified as such witches.

For what, only they, the Wizengamot, Harry, their families, and the wizards who were now dead knew.

Suffice to say, Ginny thought she deserved the privilege to treat another human being like utter shit. Hermione was still on the fence. Must be that soft side of me, she thought angrily as the figure above them spread his arms wide.

"Ah, ladies- Hermione, little Ginny- I'm so glad you've finally come to visit. I thought I'd never see you two, honestly. But I'll tell you, you're in for a treat today."

Hermione reached the top of the stairs and he took in her grim expression.

"Well," he murmured, "at the very least let me share the possibilities before you leave empty handed, as you appear so determined to do."

"Just get on with it," Ginny muttered, nearly as offended as Hermione wished she were. Instead, Hermione let her eyes wander. She wasn't offended because she'd seen Sirius at his worst before and this- whatever it was- was not it. Pawing at her at Harry's victory celebration, now that was his worst. Or maybe it was pawing at Ginny. Because of course, Harry was still mad about Gin. She just hadn't recovered enough yet from her anger to want to be in any normal relationship.

Which was maybe why she'd been alright with Harry finding solace in Hermione's arms those two or three times it had happened. If she'd even noticed.

Hermione shook her head of their dismal thoughts and turned her attention back to Sirius. The war hadn't changed him as much as it had herself and her friends. Of course, he'd already reached maturity by the time it had begun, so it'd had far less effect on his formation than herself. And if the shadows in his cheeks were filled and rosy now, could she really blame him for taking capitalistic advantage of the political situation? No, she couldn't.

"How are you, Sirius?" she asked, interrupting his monologue. He passed a sharp glance over her, though there was amusement on his brow.

"I'm well, Hermione. Surviving. Aren't we all?"

"Some of us," she replied lightly. She suddenly felt at least more at peace with what she was about to do. After all, the lion fed on the gazelle, the human fed on the lion. It was a circle of life. She was horrified to feel her lips crack into a smile.

"Something funny, Hermione?" Sirius asked and she felt Ginny put a hand on her shoulder, give her a small shake.

"It's nothing," she told him and gave Hermione a slightly harder shake. "This happens from time to time. We both do it," she finished softly. "_Hermione_."

Hermione snapped her head around, reached a hand up to Ginny's. Ginny grabbed it and squeezed it tight.

"You're alright."

"I'm alright," Hermione responded woodenly. She turned her head forward. "I'm alright," she explained to Sirius.

He looked doubtful. "Christ," he whispered. "What happened to you, lass?"

"War happened," Ginny spat at him, then immediately apologized.

"Look," Sirius began, "I'm only authorized to sign off on the adoptions if the assigned guardian is mentally stable. I know a lot of shit still happens behind closed doors, but it has to be legal from my end."

"It's fucking legal," Ginny announced. "For both of us. We went through the required counseling, the group therapy, the endless meetings and bonfires and trials. We have the paperwork. I know the council sent it to you before we came, so stop asking stupid questions."

"Alright, alright," he soothed. "I'm sorry. Now, I know you're both authorized for one prisoner. How do you want to do this? Did you come with a list of specifications, or do you want to just view them and select directly from the cells?"

Hermione shivered. Inhuman. She'd been right the first time.

"Like we wanted to spend any more time thinking about all this than was necessary," Ginny said, shifting on her feet uncomfortably.

Sirius nodded and put his hands together. "In that case, you'd best follow me."

As he led them down a hallway and up yet another set of stairs, Hermione could feel Ginny growing more agitated with every minute.

"This was your idea," Hermione murmured to her when she felt more in control of her voice. Her friend merely huffed and looked away.

"I know," she hissed in reply. "Just- don't."

Hermione tilted her head in response and looked ahead of herself as Sirius took them up to a door.

"There are ten rooms on each level," he explained, one hand on the doorknob. "One wizard to a room, mostly."

"Mostly?"

He smiled and it wasn't a nice expression. Hermione shivered.

"Mostly," he reiterated. "I'll introduce them- unless they care to introduce themselves- and you'll have a brief moment to speak with them and give them a once over. Your identities are hidden by a charm until you speak, for your protection."

"And once we speak?"

"Wizarding law," Sirius explained. "They have the right to know who's questioning them. Ran into one too many angry attorneys before we started enforcing. If trouble occurs we use a council mandated memory charm."

Without further ado, he opened the first door.

It wasn't anyone special, and certainly no one Hermione or Ginny had any desire to see mopping their kitchen floors.

The entire third floor was like that. On the second, Ginny finally found one whose face didn't make her shiver.

"Zabini," she called out and the dark Italian rose from his bed in the small room to come stand in front of the magical barrier.

"Weasley," he said, voice surprised. "That really you? Merlin's balls, you've changed."

"Shut up," she snarled. "I'm not here to make small talk."

His face grew pinched and he stepped back suddenly, as if that made a difference in her seeing him.

"You're here for the program." His voice was suddenly dead. That was the name those on the receiving end called it.

"Yeah, now you're catching on," Ginny murmured, any hint of sweetness her voice may have once held now erased. Hermione hoped not forever, but it was hard to tell.

"Go knock on some other bloke's door, then," he replied and she narrowed her eyes.

Hermione knew what she was going to say before the words left her lips. So, apparently, did Sirius, as he was already writing busily on his floating clipboard.

"This one," she said, without taking her eyes off Blaise's face. He met her gaze bravely and only quirked one eyebrow in response.

Hermione was suddenly worried for herself. For herself, for him, for Sirius, and most of all for Ginny. What were they getting themselves into? But then the heavy oak door slammed shut on Blaise's courage- even though it was something far from courage that had landed him in the home.

* * *

They were almost halfway done looking through the basement when Hermione found a face that interested her. Not one she could tolerate, not one she cared for, really, in any way. Just one that interested her. They'd already passed Nott three doors back and though Ginny had urged her towards him, she'd ultimately shook her head and remained silent.

Now, she had to restrain herself by biting her lips just to keep from calling out. She could practically taste the power of having him under her heel, of being able to make him grovel before her with a single word, of forcing him to clean her filthy muggle, mudblood toilet with his tongue…it made her giddy. The laughter was bubbling in her throat before she realized it, but Ginny's hand to her shoulder was faster.

"Not him," she murmured.

The proud head jerked up at the sound and his eyes narrowed as he took in Ginny.

"You? Really? I always imagined you'd go for Blaise, but I suppose I can see the attraction," he sneered at her and Ginny practically lunged for him. Sirius held her off the barrier just in time.

"Not me, you pig," she hissed. "Oh, god, you know what? Yeah, take him," she suddenly urged Hermione.

Draco's grey eyes traveled from Ginny to the empty spot beside her and he instantly made the connection. He was exhausted, bruised, his pride mortally wounded, but he wasn't brain dead.

"Granger."

Hermione stumbled back from the sound of his voice saying her name and she gripped at the doorframe for support. She felt one of Sirius' hands slide about her waist, holding her upright as well, and for once he wasn't using the opportunity to paw at her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her and she gave a shaky laugh.

"I hope to be, someday," she replied and a gasp sounded from across the barrier as Draco saw her for the first time in years.

"Bloody- what in hell happened to you?" he asked and barely realized he'd stood, he was so shocked.

Hermione darted her eyes to his and whatever he read there didn't please him. Then again, it didn't please her, every day she saw herself in the mirror, so that wasn't too surprising.

Hair cut, dyed, straightened (except when humidity struck). Face bare of makeup and expression, but one side scored with an old set of scars. Lean and muscled limbs beneath sturdy muggle clothes. She knew she looked like a different woman. She felt like a different woman, every time she saw herself these days. No, that wasn't right. She felt like a stranger in her own skin, which was fine by her. The less she looked like herself, the better, because the less looking in a mirror would remind her of what had happened to her. The less running her hands over her body in the shower would shock her and send unwanted shakes down her spine, her legs.

The truth was, she'd wanted to run after it was all over. She'd wanted to leave her old life behind entirely, but Ginny had talked her out of it. Ginny had needed her. They were the only things they had to cling to once upon a time and Ginny couldn't live without her now.

Except there were days Hermione couldn't live with her best friend, either. Not when Ginny was as bad a reminder as her own body was. Ginny still looked like herself, except for the perpetual anger and bitterness upon her brow. Ginny refused to change.

Hermione wondered sometimes, if she'd shown more of Ginny's strength of character, if things would be different now. Because her softness was exactly what made this decision difficult. Why would she ever want a man in her house whose past crimes only served to remind her of something she was trying desperately to forget?

She shook her head and turned to Sirius now, rather than answer Malfoy directly.

"No, not him. Absolutely not-"

"Yes, him," Ginny demanded.

"Gin-" Hermione pled, but her friend's face was hard.

Draco shifted and sat back down on his cot. "If the lady doesn't want me, let it go, Weasley," he said, his voice weary. "For your information, I don't fucking want a mudblood like her, either."

Hermione's head snapped back around and Ginny saw fire in her friend's eyes for the first time in months.

"What did you say?" she ground out and Draco looked up at her, his eyes suddenly wide.

"I-"

There was a long moment between them, of staring and wills clashing and Hermione felt the silent battle inside of her. The part that said, run as far away as you can from this place and never look back; vying with the side that said, make him pay for calling you that. Make him pay for everyone who's ever called you that. Because he was a coward and a bad man during the war and he did worse than call a broken woman mudblood, he did worse than torture a man at the Dark Lord's bidding. He did worse than anything you will ever do to him.

The dark side, the side that had been battling her kind, broken, forgiving side for months now, won. It won by a landslide.

"Him," Hermione said. She turned and stared at Sirius, her nostrils flaring. How dare he, how dare that fucking cunt licking, cock sucking pussy call her _that name_ after everything else- she spat at the barrier, flicking her eyes to him again once more. "Him," she demanded of Sirius and the older wizard reluctantly began writing it out.

"Impossible," Draco finally said, finding his voice again.

"Excuse me?" Ginny responded, glaring at him. "And why is that?"

"It's a matched pair," he replied stiffly.

"A fucking what?" Ginny began, but Hermione shouldered past her to stand at the very edge of the barrier, staring into the dim room. She bit her lip, uncertainty sneaking back into her eyes, her expression. Ginny caught the encroaching attack of morals and leaned forward also. She looked back at Sirius.

"What does he mean?" she asked as Sirius flipped through some papers.

"Ah, I'm so sorry, I'd nearly forgotten. This is one of our _Mostlys_. What I mean by that is-"

"It's his father. Lucius Malfoy."

"Oh, bravo, Granger," Draco replied. Hermione's eyes flashed again and he retreated.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked. She could see the older man was lying curled on his side on another cot, his back to the door. He didn't move.

"Nothing's wrong with him," Draco began, but Sirius waved a hand and cut him off.

"He's a broken man, Hermione," Sirius said. "That's all."

"That is not fucking all, you dumb ass, blood traiter stray!" Draco shouted and Sirius merely rolled his eyes.

"I'm not authorized for two," Hermione murmured, her voice sounding almost sad. Ginny eyed her, then looked back at the inhabitants of the cell.

"Do you really want two? Especially these two?"

"I want him," she said again and this time her voice was hard. Draco crossed his arms.

"I won't go."

"I can separate them, but it will take a week of paperwork," Sirius offered.

Panic entered Draco's face. "If you take me without him, he'll die," he protested.

"Maybe he deserves to," Ginny growled and Draco turned to her.

"Maybe you do, for going along with this fucking program, you blood traitor twat," he snarled in return and she bared her teeth.

"Say that again."

"You heard me the first time- you deserve whatever hell is coming to all of you."

Hermione felt something twist inside of her and she looked away from that proud, pale, disenchanting face. Lucius Malfoy wasn't the only broken man in cell number three.

"Too late for that, Malfoy," she murmured. "We already saw hell. Now it's your turn." She turned to Sirius. "Whatever paperwork you need to fill out, let's take care of it. I want him."

Sirius nodded and Ginny threw one more dark look at Draco as they made their way out of the tiny room and back down the hall. Draco's obscenities and scared protests followed them. There was no proper door on the cells in the basement after all, only bars, and the sound carried quite well.

"Don't you fucking dare, Granger! You hear me? He'll die without me- you can't do this- I'll fucking kill myself, you mudblood bitch! You hear me? I'll kill myself-!"

Only once the door to the basement stairs swung shut with finality on the last of his expletives was there blessed silence. Hermione glanced at Sirius as he held out he clipboard to her.

"These aren't the right papers."

He took them back and looked them over again. "But I double checked-"

"No, Sirius, you don't understand," she said, as Ginny's eyes grew round while she watched. Hermione's lips curved in a humorless smile.

"I want them both."

* * *

**AN: Be forewarned- there will probably be a little Lucius/Hermione action mixed in with the traditional Dramione (which will still be the main focus). And I have something other than love-slave planned for Zabini, so stop daydreaming about him and Ginny, too.**


	2. Burning a Hole

**I don't own any part of Harry Potter or make money from this fic. **

_**AN**_**: It occured to me I should mention this is so totally and completely AU. XD Also, hurray for more exposition...?**

* * *

Hermione awoke like she did every night, sweat pouring from her brow, her blankets bunched in a corner of the bed and her body on fire. She tore from her bed in time to hurl into the toilet, barely missing the orange bathroom rug.

Not that another stain there would have mattered, as the vomit matched its color perfectly.

She lunged for the bottle of pills on the counter by the sink and downed three, along with a glass of icy water before she huddled down against the wall- toilet before her, door beside her, pills in hand.

Sleep blurred her vision again, but she jerked her head up and sat shivering on the floor until dawn brightened the window shade. Only then did she crawl from her spot and slither back onto her bed, leaving the covers as they were, and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

"Two?" Head Auror Potter repeated, his voice strained.

The nameless peon of the Rehabilitation, Assessment and Time-served Service, or RATS, glanced up from his papers. He was clearly nervous, but who wouldn't be? He was in Harry Potter's presence. The aurors were a dangerous bunch, these days. Good at their jobs- too good, some said- and absolutely without mercy. Or maybe it was more of a mercy to kill the evil-doers outright than parade them before the council, anymore. After all, look at what the council had done to dozens of wizards and witches so far- put them in RATS, loaned them out to witches and wizards who still had issues they needed to work through, then didn't bat an eye when said prisoners turned up dead or worse. The peon resisted the urge to shiver.

He had to run all new "indentures" by the Head Auror, because an auror had to be present at every release in case some thing went awry. The auror was tasked with protecting the master from the new servant and likewise, the servant from the new master. He (or she, heaven help her) had to go over every inch of the new master's home and make sure nothing untoward was going on, at least on the surface. They rarely bothered to look behind closed doors. Except for the Head Auror, himself. Potter was rumored to be more exacting than many of his men (and women, bless them).

"Uh, that's what the paperwork says, sir," the peon responded. "Ms. Hermione Granger, witch, graduated Hogwarts, war hero, requests allowance of two indentures for troubles taken during the second wizarding war."

Harry ground his teeth, then gestured for the peon to leave his paperwork and go.

"Chain of command, sir, I cannot let these papers out of my-"

"Leave the fucking papers and go," Harry said quietly. "I _am_ the chain of command, here."

The peon left. Harry sighed, rubbed his temple- merely force of habit, these days- and then pulled the paperwork over. He wasn't happy about it, but by Merlin he wasn't going to question Hermione. If anyone deserved two of the bastards, she did. Still, his heart skipped when he read the names.

He signed off anyway, and put his name as attending auror.

* * *

"I'm twenty-six," Hermione whuffed, stirring her coffee. "It's been eight years. Why hasn't it gotten better?"

Ginny eyed her sadly and took a drag from her cigarette. She blew the smoke out Hermione's open back door.

"Why do you think I started smoking?" she responded, stubbing the butt out on the door jamb and then flicking it out into the backyard.

"Ginny, you know those aren't biodegradable," Hermione grumbled.

"Ah ah," Ginny said. "I switched brands. Green cigarettes. Sounds funny, doesn't it? You'd think they'd be lucky or something."

"Yeah, if your fondest wish is to die of lung cancer."

"Hey, at least I'm not addicted to muggle prescription drugs," Ginny shot back and Hermione glared at her and dumped her coffee in the sink.

"Fuck you."

"Maybe some day," Ginny replied coyly. Hermione laughed in spite of herself.

"So today's the day."

"So it is," Ginny said, then turned serious again. She leaned on the island in the kitchen of the old farmhouse. "And there's nothing wrong with you, Hermione. So you're twenty-six and still have issues, so what? I'm twenty-five and it's the same way. Bill is much older than either of us and he still has nightmares from his attack, or so Fleur tells me. Even Dad-"

"It's different for them," Hermione mumbled.

"Yeah, it is. But there's no time limit on the healing process. Don't push yourself. You're still going to that therapist- so am I. Look at us. We're standing on our own two- four- feet. We have jobs. We're contributing members of society."

"With addictions and a swiftly dwindling pool of friends."

Ginny scowled. "Don't remind me. I still can't believe I'm forced to go drinking with Penelope fucking Clearwater for kicks."

"She had it as bad as we did."

"She got off easy."

"Not from you, she doesn't."

"Fine, fine. She's kind of alright. Happy?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Not in the least. Come on, we're going to be late-"

Ginny stopped her and looked at her for a long moment. "Hermione," she began. "I promise you we'll be alright someday."

I know you think that, Hermione thought. But not here, I won't.

Aloud she said, "I know. Someday. Cheers?"

"Cheers. Come on, let's go sign on the dotted line. Lord, I need another fag."

* * *

When Harry arrived at Sirius' all he saw of Hermione and Ginny at first was the backs of their heads. Ginny he would still recognize anywhere- he'd love that head of red hair until the day he died. Hermione, on the other hand, was a different woman. Gone were her wild curls, replaced by straightened, lightened, and layered locks that fell to her shoulders and a little down her back. Blond highlights streaked her hair, set off nicely by the tanned skin of her arms.

Arms that had held him closely, two or three nights once upon a time. He took a deep breath and steeled himself before he announced his presence. It wasn't so much that he hadn't seen Hermione in a long time- because in reality, he saw her nearly once a week. It was more that the shock of what had happened to her face never came easy. Whenever he saw her, now that he'd trained himself to recognize the new hair, he expected the woman who turned to greet him to have his friend's same heart shaped face, same straight teeth and brilliant smile, same delicately arched brows.

Instead he was greeted with only half a memory, while the other half was pink and puckered. And even though the same smile shone through the scars and the same arch of brow remained, marked by streaks of white scar tissue, the brilliance was gone. It was as if only half her soul, half her spark of life, remained.

He forced his lips up into an easy smile- ah, the joys of muscle memory- and Hermione immediately went to him, put her arms about his neck. Yes, that was right and familiar. He turned to Ginny next, who touched him gingerly, and still it was more than he'd been expecting from her. Perhaps this exchange would be a good idea for them, after all.

"Harry," Sirius spoke, and his voice was the only familiar, healthy sound in the room. Harry hugged him, too, then stood back and gestured for them to proceed.

And they got down to business.

* * *

Draco could hear them. He didn't know where in the house they were, but he'd swear he could hear them. Could smell them. Granger smelled like orange and juniper.

It was the best smell that had been in his cell in weeks.

He told himself that was the only reason he could remember the way it had sifted up his nostrils and down his throat after she'd left.

Or maybe he was going crazy.

"Dad," he said, putting a hand on Lucius' shoulder, shaking him. "Dad, they're here. They'll be coming for me soon. Dad." He leaned over, rested his forehead on the older man's shoulder. "_Dad_."

Lucius didn't respond at first, but as the seconds ticked by, Draco felt his father shift, then roll over and finally put an arm about his shoulders. He pulled his son down to him and they lay together on the narrow cot, Draco's head on his father's chest, listening to nothing and everything.

It was the most life Lucius had shown in days and Draco knew he was crying, but he couldn't help it. Lucius' hand began to move in small circles over Draco's back and finally, so soft Draco wasn't sure he heard it at all, the man spoke.

"Love you," he rasped.

Draco sat up and stared down at his father, who looked up past his son's face, to the ceiling.

"Whatever happens," came the raspy voice again. "Love you."

Draco bit his lip and then pressed his forehead to his father's. Lucius' eyes looked into his without seeing him.

"I love you too, Dad," Draco replied softly.

And then the sounds of footsteps were real and Draco sat up abruptly, wiped his cheeks, and stood.

* * *

Hermione hesitated at the door of the cell and Sirius motioned once again. Harry came to a stop beside her.

"You sure about this?" he murmured. "It's not too late to back out. Let someone else have them."

Hermione opened her mouth and was about to respond when Draco stepped forward, peering out of the darkness at them.

"That you, mudblood?" he called in a shaky voice.

Hermione turned to look at Harry. "No," she said simply, "they're mine."

Thinking she was speaking to him, Draco practically snarled. "I'm not anybody's, least of all yours, Granger. You'll regret this, you bitch. Signing my father's death certificate- I'll make sure you regret it, that's a promise."

Harry lifted his wand, but Hermione shook her head. I can fight my own fucking battles, Harry, her eyes said. He stepped back.

"Really? So you want me to leave your father in here to rot, is that it?" she called. She moved into the cell and motioned to Harry. "A pity. That's more paperwork."

"What…" Draco's face grew pinched. "What are you on about?"

"I said, 'That's more paperwork,' but if you really want me to take only you, I suppose we can arrange it."

"You want us both-"

"That's what I've been saying, Malfoy," Hermione replied coolly, inspecting her fingernails- trimmed short, with a layer of grime beneath the stubs. They clashed with every other perfectly put together part of her. She picked some dirt out and didn't say another word. Draco blinked stupidly and looked to Sirius, then Harry.

"Both of us."

"Hell, are we done here yet? I have things to do," Hermione said. She nodded at Harry, who stepped forward and chained Draco's hands and feet. Then he stepped over the Lucius, who seemed to be sitting of his own accord.

"No, don't-" Draco began, but shut up when Hermione's cold eyes met his.

"Why?" she asked.

Sirius spoke up. "Probably too weak to bear them. A simple spell should suffice."

Draco didn't say another word, merely watched silently as Harry spelled his father into submission- even the spell was unnecessary, in his own opinion. Then he followed Sirius from the cell while Harry and Hermione hung behind them, watching their every move. Or maybe Granger was inspecting her nails some more. He didn't know and he frankly didn't care.

His father wasn't being left alone. Whatever fresh hell was headed their way, they could face it together. It was almost more than he could bear right then and he knew his eyes were watering dangerously. He dared a quick glance over his shoulder at Granger, to where she now stood with Harry, going over some of the more pertinent details of their release.

She was shaking. Barely, but he could see it. The edge of one of the papers flapped dangerously in the still room. His eyes flicked to her face only to find her watching him, in return. The paper shook more violently until Potter reached over and took it from her. Draco looked away.

What the fuck had happened to her?

Same fucking thing that happened to all of us, he answered himself. War.

Then they were passing more security and Sirius was waving goodbye to Granger and Potter and they were being ushered into a vehicle with bars on the back windows that had no doubt been charmed to look like an ordinary muggle car. It looked like what it was to him, though. A prison bus. Draco's quick eyes picked up a flash of red hair in the front portion and he gazed across from himself to see Zabini. He didn't smile at his once classmate.

Zabini returned the favor by ignoring him. The message between most of the prisoners was pretty clear. If we all pretend this isn't happening , that we don't see our once powerful fellow wizards disappearing into the night to become slaves to muggles and Potter's comrades, we can die with some dignity.

The bus passed out of the City quickly and pulled to a stop in front of some remodeled town homes. Potter disembarked the vehicle with Weasley and Zabini. Draco's eyes followed them up to the front door of the apartment building and then cut away to his father. He had bigger things to worry about than Blaise Zabini, who could, of course, take care of himself.

He considered talking to Hermione while they waited, but of course why would he want to do that. He snorted and shifted on the bench, looked over at his Father, whose eyes were closed. At least he was still upright. That had to be a good sign.

Then, just as he was getting ready to open his mouth to speak to Granger (against his better judgment), Potter was back and the vehicle was moving again.

* * *

**AN: Also, I'd apologize for the foul language, (How many f-bombs? Can you count them?) but it seems appropriate for this story, somehow. Eff eff efffffff.**


	3. Ruined Faith

**I don't own any part of Harry Potter and make no money off this fic.**

**AN: So, third chapter...I'm in the honeymoon phase with this story, if you couldn't tell. Rather enjoying myself. Always nice to inject some bitterness, anger, and angst into the sunny-lovey-dovey-happy-romance that is Spring. At least, I think so. Also, more exposition.**

* * *

They drove for another hour and had just turned onto the sixth of several smaller country roads when Draco finally felt the urge to speak again.

At first, he merely described the passing scenery to his father, who continued to sit with his back straight and eyes closed. Then, as the seconds grew to minutes, he felt his impatience peak.

"Excuse me," he tried. "Excuse me, how long?" He pressed his face to the separating glass. "How long?"

Hermione heard his question and turned her head slightly. She eyed Harry.

"About ten more minutes, wouldn't you say?"

"About that," Harry replied mildly, both amused and concerned at Hermione's civility to her new servant.

Servant. Malfoy, a servant. Malfoy's father, a husk of a man. The amusement left his features.

"Are you sure about this, Hermione?"

She slid her eyes towards him and shrugged, turned her face back towards the front. "Don't miss the turn."

Harry pulled off the final lane and into a long drive. The bus didn't bump along the gravel because of its charms, but a cloud of dust still rose up from under the wheels. Malfoy stared out the back windows as all traces of civilization receded.

Where were they being taken? Had Granger really settled out here, away from all the world?

Seconds later, he had his answer as the bus pulled to a stop and Potter opened the doors to Draco's new home and his father's final one.

An old farmhouse, remodeled, but still clearly showing its age, stood before them. About fifty meters away was a barn and Draco thought he could hear the whinny of horses coming from somewhere behind the house. Horses? Really? He barely heard Potter issue instructions to Granger and then renew the holding spells before he left to look over the house, followed by the barn.

So, Draco was a bit surprised to see Granger standing there, looking him over when he turned to take in his surroundings.

"This?" he asked, his voice shaking from nerves.

"Sorry it's not more posh," she replied, her voice dead.

It's the most beautiful place I've seen in three years, Draco wanted to say. Instead, he sneered and looked over at his father. He started telling him what he saw. Oak and Maple trees. Boxwoods. Forsythia?

He asked the question aloud and Hermione merely nodded, her intelligent eyes taking in his little descriptive monologue.

"He's not blind?"

Draco stopped and looked back at her. Her hands were shaking again. His eyes found her face, the side not scarred like shit.

"May as well be. Nothing wrong with his eyes, that I know. But he doesn't see a damn thing."

"Or chooses not to," Hermione supplied and Draco shrugged sullenly. He continued to murmur to his father and Hermione sighed, shook her hands out and walked up the front porch.

"Are you done yet?" she called to Harry, who pushed open the screen door, then held it for all three.

"Come on in. All clear."

"What, not putting us in the root cellar?" Draco asked and Hermione nearly flinched. Harry caught her reaction and stepped up to Malfoy.

"Some of us still have morals," he murmured, his voice dangerous. "Be grateful for whatever this witch gives you. She's a better person than you ever were. If you're very, very good the next few years you may even learn how to act like a human being again."

Hermione paused at the foot of the stairs and looked back at the three men; one of whom stared blankly ahead of himself and looked about to fall over and the other two who were glaring silently at one another. Of course, Draco looked a little worse for wear, but not many wizards could stand head to head with Harry Potter these days.

"Stop comparing dick sizes," Hermione barked. "And get the fuck over here."

Harry rolled his eyes at her, but Draco cast his downward and kept them that way- following her up the stairs, down the hall, stopping before a closed door. Hermione turned the knob and it swung inward. A puff of warm, stale air hit them and Hermione preceded them in order to open the windows.

"You cast the spells?" Hermione asked Harry, who nodded.

"They'll stay."

"Alright then," she said and clapped her hands together once. Probably to stop them trembling, Draco thought. "Have a look around," she continued and a caricature of a smile passed her lips.

Harry removed Draco's chains, binding him instead with a few wards and precautionary spells. Then he cast the same spells on Lucius. Draco led his father over to one of the twin beds in the room- both with antique brass frames and patchwork quilt bedspreads- and settled him there gently. The walls were painted a pale blue and there were a couple of prints of wildflowers on the walls. No curtains. Then again, no need for shades or curtains, as there were no neighbors for miles.

"And there's a bathroom right next door. I haven't had a connecting door put in yet…" Her voice trailed off and she seemed almost anxious for Draco's opinion.

"It's nice," he finally grunted and sat down next to his father. He rubbed his wrists idly and cast another furtive glance at Potter. He was almost scared to ask his next question.

"Is there…when is the next meal?" he managed to mumble quickly and Hermione's eyes widened.

"You're hungry? Of course you're hungry. I'll just…" She stopped suddenly, her hands curling into fists. She put her head down and her shoulders began to shake. Harry moved towards her, but she put one hand out in a violent gesture and then lifted her head again.

"I'll call you when it's ready," she managed to gasp. "When I fucking feel like making something." Then she was gone. Harry surveyed Draco and Lucius, tilted his head to one side, took a step forward. Hermione called his name from downstairs and Harry paused.

"If anything- anything at all- happens to her with you and your dear old dad here, I will lead the investigation myself, just so I can have the pleasure of killing you and fixing the paperwork," he threatened. Then he, too, was gone, the door closed behind him. Draco hoped he hadn't locked it.

No connecting door for the loo, after all.

* * *

Hermione was in the kitchen when Harry found her, standing over a pair of sandwiches, knife in hand and, of course, dripping with blood from where she'd cut herself. On purpose or accident, he was never sure anymore.

"Hermione," he murmured, taking the knife from her hands and turning her about so he could see the injury. Just a nick to her finger, he saw, and quickly grabbed a rag to staunch it. "_Hermione_."

"Oh, shut it," she replied, her shoulders still shaking with restrained laughter. "What in hell- Harry, what in hell was I thinking? Malfoy? Malfoy _senior_? Jesus Christ."

"Your choice. I thought you knew what you were doing," he replied, disinfecting the cut and then carefully placing a small bandage about her finger.

"I never know what I'm doing anymore, Harry," she pointed out and he held her hands in his, looked in her eyes.

"Let me get Ginny."

"She has Zabini."

"Let me get Molly."

"She has a gazillion grandchildren."

"Then let me stay, for Merlin's sake!" Harry growled and Hermione shook her head.

"I'll be fine. I just- oh, fuck, Harry." She pulled away and finished with the sandwiches, tossed the one half that had blood all over the bread and started fresh.

"Roast?" she asked Harry and he leaned against the counter, nodding.

"I wish you'd stop straightening your hair," he murmured.

She nearly froze, but her motions continued. Meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, mustard, bread. Meat, cheese…the cheese slipped from her hand back to the cutting board and she looked up at him.

"I wish I could, too," she whispered. "Harry, who was I kidding? Keeping them here won't help. Nothing will. Nothing _has_."

"They're here now and they will be for at least two weeks before more paperwork gets sorted out, even if you wanted to get rid of them. Of course, there's the old fashioned way," he added.

Hermione shook her head. "I can't do that."

"I know. It was just an option, but both would make more work for me. So I hope you seriously reconsider."

She smacked his arm and he grinned. It was gone again moments later though and he put a hand on her arm, staying her motion.

"Seriously, Hermione. What possessed you? This really isn't like you."

She sighed. "Ginny," she explained. "She'd been at me to go with her, just to look, and I told her the only way I'd step foot inside that death trap was if…well, you get the idea." She finished the sandwich for Harry, took a bite of it herself and handed it to him. He eyed the missing corner and then her and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Get over it. Anyway, she worked herself into a fit, insisting I go too, that it would be therapeutic. Everyone was saying so, really. The therapists, the group counseling…and it all came at me during a rough spot. I agreed. It was stupid, but I agreed." Her eyes grew glassy, gazing at something Harry couldn't, would never, see.

"And once you'd been?" he asked around a mouthful of roast beef and rye.

She shook herself. "He picked a fight with me on the wrong day," she finished.

"The same language he was so free with today, I assume?"

Hermione shrugged. "It made me angry. It still makes me angry. All I ever wanted was peace and equality and even in the face of possible death- _certain _death, that arrogant prick called me that fucking name. Like we were still in grade school, like all this was still a game. I wanted to wring his bloody little neck," she admitted. "I still might," she added.

Harry polished off the sandwich and crossed his arms as he leaned against the counter.

"But you won't."

"Probably not," she conceded. "But a witch can dream."

Harry smiled wryly. "Is that what you're doing out here, surrounded by horses?"

"Can you blame me? They're wonderful company."

"I wasn't implying anything. Now, will you let me stay tonight? Settle you into things?" He'd suddenly moved over and was next to her, letting his side rest against hers comfortably. The heat from his body seeped over into her skin and she shivered. Held her arms across her middle.

This was how it had always started between them. A simple question, looking for an even simpler answer. She shook her head.

"Harry, stop joking. You love Ginny."

"And she's never going to love me."

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes sad. "Harry, you can't give up on her. Please. Not yet. You…you're all we have left, outside ourselves."

He tried to harden himself against her pleading orbs, but it was impossible. It would always be impossible, when one of them peered out of that dead side of her.

"Hermione…she has family, friends."

"Did you ask her when the last time she spoke to her mother was? No? Try that next time you see her," Hermione replied, fire suddenly flashing in her eyes.

"You and I," Harry tried again, "we at least have something real when we're together. I'm not asking forever. Merlin, Hermione. You know I'll never stop loving Ginny. I'll never really give up on her."

"Then stop asking me to repeat a mistake we made years ago," Hermione snapped back. "Did you ever stop to think that you might be hurting me?"

Harry stepped away from her, understanding creasing his brow, eyes widening.

"I didn't-"

"I know you didn't. You're my best friend. She's my other best friend. I want to keep it that way. It's easiest and best. Especially when you two fucking belong together," she added. Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes. She felt Harry's arms go about her and he rocked her back and forth gently.

"Merlin, Hermione," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just don't give up on her."

"Ok, Hermione, ok."

"Promise."

"Only if you promise to stop straightening your hair."

"Fuck you."

"Already have, love," Harry murmured, and at that, the laughter came to her, followed by the tears. But this time, none of it was followed by a mistake…even though she ached to be held. Properly, like she'd known, once.

She stood at the front door, watching the cloud of dust the bus left in its wake and waving until her arm was tired. Then she slowly closed the screen door, latched it, and left the inner door open to let the breeze through. Collecting the plate of sandwiches from the kitchen, she stacked a couple of glasses on top of a large bottle of water and started for the stairs.

They creaked beneath her feet as she climbed up, one by one. An easily fixed problem with a wand, if she'd cared. But she didn't, and besides, she hadn't held a wand in eight years.


	4. Trying To Get By

**I don't own Harry Potter, bleeeeh.**

**AN: Oo, a fourth chapter. Look at that. **

* * *

Draco looked up from his father's once again curled up form to the door of the bedroom. It had swung open quietly and Hermione entered without bothering to announce herself. Not that she needed to. It was her home and he was a persona non grata.

She set the things she was carrying on the dresser next to the door. "Food, if you want it," she murmured, then wiped her hands on her jeans and turned to leave.

Draco made an impulsive decision.

"Thank you," he called to her. She stopped, but didn't acknowledge him, merely shut the door again.

He stared after her in consternation.

What had happened to her? He saw the old her, the one with fight and strength, only when he called her foul names. Yet even that side of her was laced with cyanide. Mentally, she was a ticking time bomb, he had the feeling.

But she hadn't beaten either of them yet and she'd actually brought them food- a fact he was grateful for, whether she chose to acknowledge it or not.

Draco turned to his father and shook him gently.

"Dad? Time to eat."

Lucius didn't respond and Draco sighed, walked over to the food, and forced some of it down. One of them had to keep his strength up, at least, if they were to survive this ordeal.

Then he covered the rest of it with a napkin to keep for his father, went to his own bed and lay back on the downy mattress. He meant to ponder the situation some, think of Granger, of how she'd changed, but he hadn't felt a mattress like this one in ages. His eyes drifted shut, lulled by the sounds of birds chirping in the trees outside.

He was asleep seconds later.

He dreamed.

* * *

He was running down the great hall in the ministry, firing curses over his shoulder, not caring who he hit. He just had to get away. What an idiot he'd been, to trust that stupid young turncoat who was working in Immigration. A passport, a new wizarding passport with false identities was all he'd wanted and instead he'd been outed.

Aurors dropped like flies under the force of his magic- and suddenly he realized it wasn't just him, but others were joining in the fight. Other Eaters and cowards who had long ago gone underground with false identities were ducking from their offices, cheering him on, firing their own hexes. As if it were a game! It wasn't a game, it was his life, his parents' lives. They were depending on him to get them out of England and somewhere far away from the people on both sides intent on murdering them all.

Another curse hit the wall above his head and he ducked, crawled behind some shelves, a statue, a table. Crawled for freedom like the coward he was. And then there they were, the legs in front of him, stalling his progress, the slight jump backwards of those feet as their owner realized who it was crawling around the floor beside him. Draco looked up, terrified, caught, humiliated, caught, utterly crushed- caught! Caught, caught, caught! You fucking coward! You fool of a boy, a wizard! What have you done! He could hear her voice crying at him as he returned from his failed mission.

But no, it wasn't his mother, of a sudden. She'd never uttered those words. It was his aunt and he was sixteen again and terrified. The faces swam before him, morphing one into the other and he broke into a sweat, reached out before himself as if he could claw their faces away into nothingness- he cried out.

Jolting upright, he held the sheets to his chest and gasped for air. He cried out again. No, wait. Not him. Someone else. He looked about the dark room, lit only by moonlight, and saw his father lying peacefully on his bed. His eyes immediately searched out the plate he'd left and he saw with satisfaction the other sandwich was gone. His eyes drifted back to his father contentedly, if mildly annoyed, and he was about to lie back down, convinced the cry was that of a bird when it sounded again.

He was wide awake, now, and that was no bird.

Without thinking, Draco stumbled from the bed, tearing the sheets away from himself, and he was out the bedroom door before the next cry came. His heart pounding and him wandless and defenseless, he nevertheless tore down the stairs. Following his instincts, he came to the only closed door on the first floor- the one leading to Hermione's room- and stopped.

What? What was he going to do? Bust in her door? Take her in his arms and comfort her? There was always the real possibility that she truly was in trouble, but even then he wasn't sure what he could do. He tried to remind himself that he was only worried for himself and his father- this was their best chance at normalcy, after all, and it beat Black's so-called home any day. If something happened to her, it would be straight back to prison with them- or death. Or worse than death. Still…

He took a step back, feeling extremely foolish, but then another cry sounded. This one was different and followed by the sound of retching. He took a second step back.

What in hell? He lifted a hand, preparing to knock, to ask her what was wrong, if she was ok, but it seemed somehow pointless. She was a grown witch. If she was in real trouble, she'd call for him, wouldn't she? Besides, he was the prisoner, here. The hardened criminal. There were probably wards on her door keeping him out. And if he did make it inside, what then?

Hi, mistress, just come to see if you need help holding your hair back, he thought bitterly. You know, considering my people were some of the ones to give you those nightmares it's the very least I can do.

He turned- guiltily, reluctantly- and walked back up the stairs. Only once he was standing before the beds again did he think to wonder who had undressed him and gotten him and his father tucked beneath their covers.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the early morning breeze coming in her window. She was, blessedly, in the comfort of her own bed. Of course, she felt as if she had the worst hangover of her life.

But she felt that way every morning.

Dragging herself from the bed, she glanced at the digital clock on her table and saw it was only six. She'd actually gotten back to bed before dawn had hit, a small victory in her pathetic life. And yes, she knew she was pathetic, she told her reflection as she leaned over the bathroom sink. Poor, sad Hermione Granger, everyone who knew her said. She couldn't handle the war and now she's a shut in out in the country taking care of farm animals. Do you know you have to actually use muggle vehicles in order to get in to her place to see her? How sad. She used to be the brightest witch of her age.

Sometimes they said it all behind her back.

Well, she told herself. I am still the brightest witch of my age. Just because I choose not to perform magic doesn't make me incompetent, or a dunce. What do they fucking know? Ginny was right- I'm standing on my own two feet, I hold a job, I contribute- help others. Just because I don't want to run for Minister and need pills to get me through the night doesn't make me weak. It makes me human. I've survived what dozens of other women around the world have had to go through in a multitude of wars and I'm alive. It's enough. It has to be enough.

She splashed some cool water on her face, feeling the uneven ridges beneath her left hand as she washed. Then she reached for a towel, patted her face and neck dry, and headed for the kitchen.

* * *

She cooked more food than she meant to, set the table, and then stood back for a moment, surveying her work. She drank her first cup of coffee. Cut some flowers from the window planter, put them in a bud vase and added that to the table.

She took a second cup of coffee, decided she was being stupid, and moved the vase to the living room. Then she called up the stairs. It was already seven-thirty. When no answer greeted her, she sighed, tied her robe more firmly about her waist, added a pair of slippers to her ensemble, and trudged up the stairs.

When she opened the door to their room, a naked back greeted her. A naked back covered in scars.

"I'm sorry," she said, but didn't shut the door, or turn away. "Breakfast," she explained to Draco's back.

He ducked his head and finished pulling on his undershirt, then went over to his father. He glanced back at her and stopped at the foot of Lucius' bed when he saw she didn't have a tray in her hands.

"When?"

"Now," she replied. "Downstairs. Come on, you go. I'll take care of him," she said, nodding to his father.

Draco stiffened. "Downstairs?"

"I'm not going to make you eat in your room like naughty children or animals," Hermione said shortly. "It's already out, on the kitchen table, and it's getting cold. Now go- I'll get your father."

Still, Draco hesitated. "I don't-" he stopped, thought better of what he'd been about to say. Clearly, he did need her help, as she was his new mistress. Employer. Guardian?

Whatever. He tried again. "Did you…last night?"

"I don't understand your bloody question, Malfoy," Hermione snapped, finally tired of the tension. "Learn to speak English properly and maybe then I can give you some answers. Now get your damned skinny arse down those stairs right now and help yourself to some fucking food. I made too much and it's getting cold!" she finished, pointing sternly out the door, her face set in a hard frown.

Draco hesitated one last time, but she stomped her foot at him and he got his ass out and down the stairs.

So he has trouble understanding directions, Hermione thought. That's good to know.

She approached Lucius' bed and sat down on the edge of it. Of course, she'd understood Draco's question immediately; she just hadn't felt like answering him, or trying to explain her actions. How did she tell him that she'd lived alone for so long she felt like she needed to be extra solicitous of house guests? (Not that they were house guests, really.) How did she tell him that the only time she felt useful anymore was when she was helping others? That taking care of two grown men was the closest she would ever come to having children?

She watched Lucius breathing quietly for a few moments and then slid one small hand up his arm, resting it on his shoulder.

"Time to get up," she murmured. "Time to eat." She started to make the same soft, soothing noises she made to her horses, cajoling Lucius to get up, to come with her.

Without a word, he finally, slowly, reached a hand up to hers. Then it slid away and he brought himself up, to a sitting position. After that much was taken care of, he let Hermione pull a shirt over his head and she gently tugged his hair free and laid it down his back.- his jailors had left it long, though it was dirty and matted. She made a note that she'd need to take care of that. Maybe Draco could, though Lucius seemed to be responding alright to her so far.

He shuffled from the room before her, took the stairs slowly, and the look of surprise on Draco's face was almost worth it. Only almost, because it was more sad than anything else, and she realized that she pitied him. He seemed to realize it at the same time she did and he shot forward to help his father into his seat.

"Let me," he hissed to her and Hermione handed Lucius off to him without a word.

Draco hovered over his father, spooning a little of everything onto his plate while the older man sat staring down at it all.

Hermione thought that even though he wasn't seeing it, he must definitely be smelling it; because the man blinked twice and tilted his head, as if he recognized what it was being placed before him. She allowed herself to smile and Draco glanced up at her and glared.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't laugh at him."

Hermione rolled her eyes and poured herself a third cup of coffee. Better stop soon, she told herself. She kept her back to Draco as he fed his father.

"I wasn't laughing. I smiled because he knows what he's eating. That's a good sign."

Draco looked up at her as he sat down beside his father and paused his ministrations. He felt ashamed all of a sudden. Of course, it had been her last night- who else? And she was feeding them, she was speaking to them. He'd heard stories…he didn't know what to expect, but as all her actions so far had exceeded his worst nightmares, he knew he should be more thankful. Should at least speak to her with respect.

"He- he isn't always like this. He has moments of lucidity, of comprehension," he said gruffly. "I'm not used to someone else treating him with compassion, like a man. I'm sorry if I was rude."

"I don't ever want to hear you say those words in this house again," Hermione replied. The knuckles of her hands were white as she held her coffee mug. Draco stared at her warily, unsure of what she meant, and decided to simply not respond. That was probably safest.

She turned around after a minute and sat across the table from them, forced herself to put the mug down and then clasped her hands together in her lap.

"Sorry is just a word," she said. "It doesn't mean anything. Actions mean something."

Draco nodded and wondered if it would be alright to eat. A second later Hermione glared at him.

"You're too skinny. Eat. For the love of god, eat it all. I don't know why I made so much. I assumed you'd be starving- I'm right, aren't I? But I guess you shouldn't eat too much too soon…" She shook her head. "Look, you eat, I'll talk."

"You should eat too," Draco dared insert and she smiled at him, but her amusement was cold. As if she was saying, aren't you adorable, you dumb grunt?

"I'll talk," she repeated and Draco shut up. "Now, I don't know what all you're good for, but I guess I'll find out little by little. We'll start with working in the barn, today. I'd been thinking of hiring an extra hand anyway, so this is quite perfect. Or at least, I'll try to make it perfect. Dear god, it's better than the hours and extra money it would take to research a new employee."

Draco kept his mouth shut. Against every instinct in his body and brain, he kept his bloody mouth shut.

Hermione went on, "You can go to work first. Your father will have to come out with us just so I can keep an eye on him, but even in his state there are things he can do. Now finish eating and I'll take you out, give you the tour, instruction." She glared at him to punctuate the orders, then stared at her hands, at the table, even at Lucius. But she didn't look at Draco again. Tension wafted off her like an aroma.

Draco ate as quickly as he dared and didn't speak another word all morning.


	5. Yet Slips Away

**I don't own Potter-land. Oh, well. Guess I'd better get a real job.**

**AN: Ok, so I've made some decent headway into this story, so expect updates to come more slowly from here on out. Or that could be me lying to myself.**

* * *

Ginny listened hard to Hermione's voice as it traveled over the phone to her. The sound of a vacuum cleaner got louder and she kicked the door of her kitchen shut with one foot.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

"Just the door- had to close it. Zabini," Ginny said distastefully, "is trying to drive me out of my skull."

"What's he doing?" Hermione asked, suddenly concerned.

"Vacuuming at all hours. Merlin, how I hate muggle contraptions. But they aren't allowed to do magic, so…" She paused to sigh. "If I didn't have an assortment of muffling and silencing spells on my flat the neighbors would have complained five times today, already."

"You could take the vacuum from him," Hermione suggested cautiously. Ginny snorted.

"It keeps him out of other trouble," Ginny said breezily. Then she frowned. "Besides, when I do that he throws a tantrum. I'm…actually, I'm a little frightened of him, Hermione."

Hermione's voice sounded high and tinny to her ears; even though Ginny spoke to her best friend nearly once a day over the phone, she'd never get used to it.

"What was that?"

"I said, you should call Harry. If he's done something, threatened you, you have to report it. The people in charge need to know if someone not fit for RATS made it outside."

"You mean before I do something I regret because I'm paranoid and psychotic," Ginny supplied.

"That isn't what I meant. Do you…do you want me to come see you?"

"You never come see me," Ginny replied. "And anyway, he hasn't really done or said anything. It's just the way he looks at me-" She broke off, voice trembling, and listened to Hermione's raspy breathing over the line. Both women were remembering. "You know the looks I mean. Has either of yours-?"

"No," Hermione replied immediately. "Lucius- stop gagging, Ginny, it's easier than constantly saying _Malfoy_ and _Malfoy senior_; anyway, he's practically catatonic. Or maybe that's not the word. It's more like selective autism. Does that make any sense?"

"I think so. And Malfoy?"

"He doesn't like the situation, but he's trying to respect it. At least, I think he is. He avoids looking me and follows orders, which is enough at the moment. Like I said, I've put him to work and he hasn't complained yet. In fact I think-" and here she paused, as if unsure of what she meant, "-I think he might even like it."

"Malfoy? Like mucking stables? Yeah, and I'm a horned Hippogriff," Ginny replied.

Hermione said something snappy at that and Ginny laughed and minutes later she was hanging up, with a promise to see her friend soon. She'd been right, of course, that Hermione never visited her and would never visit her- not willingly, anyway. Having a flat in the city, apparently, reminded Hermione too much of lost dreams. So Ginny would do what she always did- apparate to the start of Hermione's long drive, outside the wards, and then walk the fifteen minutes up to the house.

The sound of the vacuum outside the kitchen door grew louder and a second later she heard it clunk against the base of the door several times. It was a menacing noise. Ginny knew she was being silly, childish- that she simply had leftover paranoia from her ordeal- but she couldn't help herself. She shivered anyway and nearly picked up the phone again to call Harry, like Hermione had suggested. Nearly.

But she was paranoid, not desperate or defenseless, and instead she put the phone back down and opened the kitchen door, ready to wage war with her prisoner.

* * *

Harry's phone rang twice before he reached it, but by the time he'd picked it up the line had gone dead already. He stared at it suspiciously. That was the third hang-up that night. Were some kids in the area prank calling? No. He bet it was Ginny, over at Hermione's and drunk as a skunk. She'd done that a lot when he'd first gotten the line for Hermione's sake. Drunk dialed him in the middle of the night and hung up before he could even get three words across to her.

It hurt his heart terribly to know she couldn't even talk to him about it. She could talk to Hermione and her therapist and even Fleur sometimes, but not him. Hermione could talk to him, for fuck's sake. Of course, she didn't have anyone else to talk to besides him and Ginny, so that was different, he supposed. Except he was long past the stage of having patience with Ginny and was just tired, at this point- hence his proposition to Hermione.

Except then it turned out he'd been hurting her with the casual encounters, too. Some days he felt as if he could do nothing right.

He rested his hand on the phone and willed it to be silent for the rest of the night. Then, just to be sure, he unplugged it. If Ginny really wanted to reach him, she could. She still had a wand and a floo and used the Owl Post, after all. And if Hermione needed him, she had his pager number- a pager she'd given him five years ago for Christmas.

Problem solved. Maybe now he could relax with a beer and watch the Quidditch game.

Quidditch...lord, he missed Ron just then. Missed him with an ache that never went away.

He shook his head, put the beer back in the refrigerator, and left the room.

* * *

Draco watched Hermione curiously from the entrance to the living room, where she was getting ready to pick up the strange contraption once more and push its buttons.

"A…telephone, right?" he asked and she jumped, slammed the thing back to its cradle and turned to face him.

The apology came automatically and she glared at him.

"What did I say?"

"I- hell, Granger! You say it too."

"That's-" She stopped, glared again. "You're right. I do. But then again, I don't have anything to be sorry for, do I?"

"You act like you do," he retorted and immediately regretted his words. Her face dropped all expression and she turned away.

"Just because I hate what my society has become, what they're doing? What good people are doing in the name of justice?" She paused, crossed her arms. "I suppose I am sorry for that. But I can't fix any of it with a word. So, you're right. I'll stop saying it, too. Fair?"

"None of this is fair," he replied and she raised a brow at him. He looked away, uncomfortable. What was it about her face that bothered him so? He'd seen scars before. But hers…they were so out of place, so fucking _unnecessary_.

"It's late. I just wanted to tell you we'd be going to bed."

"Thank you," she shrugged. "But you don't have to."

"So what, we're free to do as we please as long as we follow directions like good little boys?" he sneered, unable to help himself and she marched over to him.

"Look at me, _Draco_," she ordered. He kept his eyes downcast. She put a finger to his chest, prodded him.

"Look. At. Me."

He looked and found, to his horror, that he suddenly couldn't look away. His eyes were glued to her face, roaming over the horrible features.

"What happened?" he asked aloud, without realizing. She looked like she wanted to slap him, but instead stepped away and crossed her arms again. Her hands were shaking again.

"You're never free to do as you please, really. Not in this life or the next. Not even when you think you are. No one is." She stared him down and he finally tore his eyes away. "That's all. I'm merely telling you that if you make decisions that lie within the bounds of permitted behavior, you don't have to inform me of your every move. Understand?"

He nodded and turned to go. Her voice trailed after him.

"As for my face, if that's what you meant, I could ask the same of you about your back."

He froze and turned his head slightly.

"But I imagine you want to talk to me about that about as much as I care to discuss my face with you. So go to bed. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

He left. Hermione felt the tension of the encounter drain from her shoulders and she sat back down with a whump. She eyed the telephone again. Well, that was probably some sort of sign, she thought. She'd been debating calling Harry for Ginny, since she was concerned about their earlier conversation; but every time she'd hung up, convinced she needed to let her friend solve her own problems. Not to mention Harry probably wouldn't appreciate being sent off to Ginny's rescue without Ginny knowing about it. In fact, neither party would have liked it. So the interruption was for the best.

But despite her resolve, Hermione sat and stared at the phone well into the night.

* * *

Draco woke to the same cries as the night before. He stayed where he was a full two seconds longer than he had the previous night, just to orient himself.

Now that he knew what was happening, he was reluctant to do anything at all. Nightmares weren't something he could help her with, or fix; and as long as his father wasn't disturbed by those heart rending cries, he didn't see that they had anything to do with him.

But he was also reluctant to not do anything and his traitorous feet dragged him from the room and down the stairs to their spot from before.

He didn't knock, didn't call out. Just stood there until he heard her getting up and retching again. Then he slowly carried himself back up the stairs and back to bed.

* * *

Hermione awoke later than normal- it was already seven, heavenly days- and realized she'd spent the night next to the toilet.

Fuck. Trading one day of small victories for one really shitty day. Happened every time.

Also, her head was pounding. No, wait. That was the door of her bedroom. She rolled over onto her hands and knees and clambered to her feet, smoothed down her pajama bottoms and top, then reached for her robe…which was halfway across the room on a chair. What had happened last night? She put a hand to her head, tried to remember.

Immediately wished she hadn't remembered.

So, she'd had that nightmare again. Great. It was going to be a bloody fantastic day, wasn't it? And she had her afternoon therapy class today, too. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She stumbled from the bathroom, wiping her sleeve along her face as she went, and crashed against the door, pounding on it from her side with the flat of her hand.

"I'm awake, I'm up, I'm alive," she shouted through the solid wood. "Now leave me the fuck alone. I'll be out in twenty minutes."

The pounding stopped and she dragged herself back to the bathroom, thinking of one thing. A hot shower. A very, very hot shower.

Ten minutes later she was wiping steam from the mirror and checking her reflection. Her hair needed another straightening- it was frizzing something awful. She wondered for two seconds if she should call her stylist and try to get in this week, but then shook her head at herself a moment later.

Harry had promised not to give up on Ginny…hadn't he? Or was she imagining what she wanted to have happen?

She rolled her eyes at herself, tossed her towel over the side of the tub, and tugged on some clothes. Then she reevaluated herself. I look like an ad for that American company, she thought. What is it? LB Jay? LC Dee? Or was it Lake's End…Lake Landing…she frowned and pulled a comb through her hair. It caught a knot and she yanked it through, then stopped.

"Oh, hell," she gasped and stared at the comb in her hand. "Lucius."

* * *

When she entered the kitchen she found Draco leaning against the island and his father seated at the table. She looked between the two of them, held out the comb.

"What's that?" Draco asked warily.

"I think you know what a comb is," she replied coolly. "It occurred to me that you must need some things. Necessities, clothing, whatever." She shrugged. "My class isn't until this afternoon. We should go out today. I know I did your laundry yesterday, so your clothes are clean, at least- and it was lucky I had some old things from previous workers and Harry- and you received a few things upon being discharged. But you really must have some things of your own."

"Granger, we haven't owned anything in three years," Draco murmured. He wasn't looking at her. Was he uncomfortable with her display of kindness? Well, that was alright. She was feeling uncomfortable, too.

She ignored him and got to slicing bread and beating eggs for breakfast.

"That was you pounding on my door," she said and Draco raised his eyes to her.

"You weren't up. You said bright and early, last night."

"The definition of the phrase changes regularly in this house," she told him and he raised his brows, but didn't say anything. "So there's no need to worry if you don't see me right away," she supplied.

His nostrils flared. "I wasn't worried."

"Of course," she said. After all, she didn't want some sort of embarrassing, imagined tension between the two of them. Besides, the last thing she wanted Draco Malfoy doing was being worried for her. Like she needed or wanted his concern. So he could act like a human being, so what? She could take care of herself. She had friends- albeit not many, but it was still more than he had- who worried about her. Malfoy didn't need to and nor should he.

It would take more than a knock on her bedroom door to even begin to make up for all the shit he and his family and friends had put her through. All the names, the bullying, then that kidnapping followed by the torture…no mere sign of concern could cancel out years of abuse. And that was that.

The eggs sizzled as soon as they hit the frying pan.


	6. Weak and Wounded

**I don't own Harry Potter, what a surprise.**

**AN: This is the only time I'll bring up the Iraq war. I have no desire to discuss it, or start anything. It's just that, if one does the math, the incident in question happened eight years ago, and at the height of the war. That puts the incident in 1998 and subsequently, this story in 2006, or thereabouts. Britain was still in Iraq then, so it's a plausible excuse (except for the fact that Lucius' hair is much too long for the military, but people might assume equally they were a civilian presence). So, whatever. I was just trying to think of an excuse Hermione could use.**

* * *

Hermione drove her Volkswagen Touareg fast, with the windows down and the radio up. Draco was holding onto the dashboard in front of him as if his life depended on it, face pinched and white; while Lucius sat in the row of seats behind them, his tangled hair blowing loose from the swift braid Hermione had given it. There was a look of intense concentration on his face and Hermione glanced in the rearview mirror every few seconds to check on him.

She finally turned down the radio and shouted to Draco, "Is he ok?"

"Ask me!" Draco yelled back. "Ask me if I'm bloody ok, you fucking mental mu-"

Hermione made a sharp left turn in response and the insult was lost to the wind. No more, she'd told herself. No more would she let him or anyone else insult her that way. The time for petty words was past. Draco needed to grow up if he wanted to survive for any length of time.

By the time she'd parked in the small public lot at the center of the nearest town, Draco looked as if growing up was the farthest thing from his mind. His lips were pressed shut and he was looking decidedly green. That's ok, thought Hermione. It is his house color.

Then she turned her attention to Lucius, who actually stuck his head out of the SUV and twisted it about. He wasn't seeing anything, she knew- his eyes still had that blank expression from before. But he was definitely aware. Draco took his father's arm after struggling with the safety buckle for a minute. Then he looked to Hermione.

She looked back at him.

"Don't ever try to use that kind of language with me ever again," she said to him simply. He swallowed hard and nodded.

"Ok."

"You're both clean, if not tidy. So shopping for new clothes first, I think," she said. And the subject was dropped, the original plan ready to be followed.

Draco still thought she was fucking mental, but he didn't say it aloud. As for the other term…she was right. He was being stupid, still throwing words like that around. This program was about survival and, if possible, eventual release. And he'd never survive if he kept saying things like that. His father would never survive. Shame hit him full force and oh, how he wanted to apologize aloud to her then, but he knew he wouldn't get anything for his trouble. She didn't care about how he _felt_, damn it. She only cared about what in hell he was going to _do _about how he felt.

And the answer…he didn't know. He hoped he could regain his humanity. If that meant respecting her, mucking stalls, and eating blasted eggs every morning, he would. It was better than a lot of the former prisoners got- it was a fucking paradise, come to that, and he knew it.

He felt his father tense beside him and he shrugged.

"Some kind of town. The nearest village to her farm. It's not very busy, but we're here early on a weekday…I guess normal work hours still exist for some people, out in the real world." He paused, glanced about. "She wants to buy us necessities, she said. Clothes, hair brushes. Soap that doesn't smell like lavender."

"Will lemon verbena do instead?" Hermione asked sweetly, clicking the SUV locked. It beeped and went silent. Draco stared at her. She frowned. "What?"

"What's lemon verbena?"

* * *

Ginny rolled the cigarette about in her fingers and stared off the small balcony at the city's skyline. Her wrist still hurt from the night before…so did her pride. She'd let him get to her, the bastard.

Maybe Hermione had been right all along. Maybe the whole thing was a giant mistake, designed only for vengeance. The truth was, she'd thought she was harder than this, tougher. Tough enough to rule over a cowardly man who'd only survived the war on lies and money. On turning over her friends to the other side. On spitting on her in the hallway and throwing her books to the ground…right before he undressed her with his eyes.

Except that wasn't the truth, was it. The truth was that she was still scared and desperately hurt and paranoid as fuck. And every time he looked at her now she felt like her skin was crawling. No wonder Hermione had…she shook her head, cleared it of those thoughts. Took another drag off her cigarette.

Look at me, she thought. Only third day in and I'm already shaking like a leaf. Well, at least I have a reason now, unlike Hermione's shakes…which seem to be permanent. Wonder how she's doing. If they're getting better, or worse. I hardly notice them anymore, she thought. I'm so used to seeing them.

She took another drag, blew the smoke out. It tasted sour. She eyed the cancer stick, then stubbed it out on the balcony rail and flicked it out over the side. Right into Mrs. Gardner's petunias, she thought with satisfaction.

"Well, well," came a voice from behind her. Her shoulders tensed, but she forced herself not to turn around. Don't let him get to you that way, she told herself, and her hand drifted down the bruise about her wrist again.

He walked onto the balcony and leaned on the rail so that he was facing her. He didn't have a bruise, of course. Not with his dark skin.

"Go away," she said.

"Can't," Blaise replied. "A filthy little blood tr-" He suddenly found it very difficult to breath with her wand pressed tightly against his neck, but he managed somehow. "Traitor!" He gasped. "Brought me home with her-" another gasp. "And I can't fucking leave!"

"You'll call me Mistress or Weasley, but nothing else, you understand me?" she growled at him.

"I'll do nothing of the-" His voice cut off to a sudden gurgle as Ginny pressed harder and muttered a particularly nasty hex. His lips started turning blue after a minute. She smiled.

"What's that?" she asked and stepped away.

He immediately doubled over and gasped for breath. Then he straightened some, though still leaning on the rail, and opened his mouth to swear at her more, and loudly.

No sound came.

Blaise looked stricken and Ginny continued to smile.

"Now, now," she told him. "Servants are to be seen and not heard."

His eyes turned murderous and she stepped back. He closed the distance, towered over her despite her height. The threat was clear, though it was unspoken.

You'll regret this, he was telling her. You'll regret all of it.

She stepped out of the way and gestured inside. "Stop threatening me and get in there and clean. And once you've cleaned it all, do it all over again. Or I'll send you to Hermione's to muck out stalls with the Malfoys," she hissed.

He took a deep breath and prepared to march inside. At the last minute he flicked his eyes to her wrist, then back to her face. Only then did he walk back inside. Ginny shivered, straightened her back, and turned her gaze outward again. A few seconds later she could hear the vacuum starting once more.

The threat remained and despite her resolve, her hands shook as she lit yet another cigarette.

* * *

The male clerk in the small clothing store hadn't asked any questions, for which Hermione was grateful. They hadn't needed to get much there anyway- just a few essentials to tide the two men over. Socks and under-things, some t-shirts, a few pairs of jeans each. The rest of their clothing needs, she'd decided, she would order from a catalogue, or have Harry get them for her. After all, aside from height and, ok, maybe Draco was thinner than she liked, the three men were fairly close in size, she'd wager. She made them both get a pair of trainers, too, but didn't worry about work boots. She had some extras lying about the barn that fit them.

After that she made a stop back at the vehicle to drop the bags off, relocked the car, and then surveyed her…prisoners? No, she shook her head. Wards was more like it. What had she said to Ginny? Ah, yes. Strays.

"What?" Draco asked, feeling uncomfortable with the once over. Not that he hadn't expected a once over sooner or later. It was well known that many of the prisoners ended up being used for more than just a household maid. He just somehow hadn't expected a once over from her.

Then again, she hadn't made them buy any sort of sexy or even fashionable clothing. Hell, he hadn't even seen the inside of her bedroom yet. And she really did seem to care more about whether he learned how to muck a stall properly than anything else. But none of that meant she couldn't change her mind, or was just biding her time. He shivered and clenched his hands at his sides.

She'd already turned away and was gazing at something. She finally looked back at him.

"There's a Boots up the street. We should be able to finish up there. I really think that's all-"

"A what? What boots? Whose boots?"

Beside him, Lucius made a sudden, violent gesture and grabbed his arm. He looked very pale and Hermione moved forward, but Draco pushed her away.

"I can take care of him myself."

Hermione frowned and crossed her arms to hide their shaking. "Fine. You can. Then follow me."

"You still didn't say-"

"Boots," came a raspy voice beside him and Draco turned to his father, shocked. He looked up the street, ready to call to Hermione, but something held him back. His father's hand on his arm.

"Boots," he said again.

"Father?" Draco whispered.

Ahead of them, Hermione had turned and was motioning for them to keep up. Draco nodded and started moving his father along.

"What is it?" he murmured as they walked.

"A shop," Lucius replied softly, and a smile flickered across his lips. It was gone just as quickly and then his father's regal face had shut down once again. But Draco was certain, as they walked into the shop behind Hermione, that he heard another quiet, "Boots," followed by the softest, sweetest sound he'd heard in ages: his father's laugh.

* * *

Inside the store, Draco looked around himself curiously while his father continued to hold onto his sleeve of his own free will. The place looked like a mix between a candy shop and a potions store. There were all sorts of bottles and other items lining the shelves. He leaned over to inspect a bright blue, glass bottle of something and Hermione leaned over his shoulder.

"Davidoff. Of course. The most expensive product in here and you immediately go for it."

He immediately set the bottle back down. Hermione plucked it up again. She remained near him and as she came back up with the bottle in hand he caught a whiff of her still damp hair.

Orange and juniper.

He took a deep breath and must've closed his eyes, or made some sort of noise of satisfaction, because a second later Hermione was snapping her fingers in his face. He jumped.

"What the fuck was that, Malfoy?" she asked and he flushed.

"You smell good." Honesty was the best policy, right?

Hermione looked as if she wanted to rip his throat out for a full three seconds. Then she relaxed some. She put the bottle in her basket. Draco began to protest. She glared at him and proceeded to stick the entire line of products in the basket. He shut his mouth.

"Now," she said, voice uneven, "you'll smell good too. Then you won't have to go about sniffing at me like some perv."

He flushed an even brighter shade of red, but his lips remained closed and he continued to follow her around the store after that, and didn't pick another product off the shelves. Lucius, in turn, followed him, the look of intense concentration back upon his face.

Secretly, Hermione felt a little like it was Christmas- buying all those things, with Draco gazing at every new item she placed in her basket as if it were the holy grail. As if it were the most precious, beautiful thing he'd seen in years. Not that he was that obvious about it. But she'd gotten pretty good at reading people (oh, how she'd had to) and she knew joy when she saw it. She felt extremely charitable, indeed. Never mind that it was confused by the fact the items were for confirmed Death Eaters. They were strays, she told herself firmly, even if they did need to be de-clawed. And even strays deserved a home. She didn't have to like them, but they deserved a home.

Especially since, after last night, she didn't think she had the strength to be deliberately cruel to these men. Firm, yes. Demanding, oh, yes. But cruel? Whip them, use them to satisfy her own selfish need for revenge, or worse? No, she didn't have that fight left in her any longer. Oh, she was still plenty angry about the past- and hurt and scared. But she couldn't bring herself to do to them what had been done to her. No one should ever have that done to them, ever again, and certainly not by her hand.

Draco made a small noise of recognition and Hermione turned around to see him looking at a row of toothbrushes.

"Recognize those, do you?" she said and nearly grinned. He merely frowned at the teasing tone of voice and looked away. Hermione pulled two off the rack anyway and waved them beneath his nose.

"Blue ok?"

He grunted, but didn't complain. She took that as a yes, and into the basket they went.

* * *

By the time Hermione took all the products (combs, brushes, proper razors, creams, wash, soap, after shave, shampoo- the list went on) up to the front counter she and her tiny entourage had garnered a bit of attention. The other customers were whispering about the strange men with the strange, but nice, Ms. Jeannie, as they knew her. The clerk smiled at Draco and behind him, at his father, then looked to Hermione.

"Hello, Jeannie," the woman said. "No refill today?" Hermione murmured a hello in return and then shook her head. Draco wondered what they all thought had happened to her. He supposed she could have just cast a glamour on her face, but that somehow didn't seem her way.

"And who are these two fine young men?" the woman asked, although it was clear Draco and his father were neither of them looking fine at the moment. Neat and clean, but his father's hair…and he knew his own beard looked patchy. He hadn't had a new razor in weeks. In fact, he was dying to get back to the farm and feel clean shaven, truly clean shaven, for the first time in years.

Hermione hesitated as she continued to pull items from the basket and the woman scanned them, one by one. She glanced over her shoulder, smiled guiltily at Draco. She looked back to the woman.

"They're my cousins. They've both been…in Iraq," she lied. "This is Drake and his father, Luke." Hermione leaned forward and so did the woman, the universal sign of intrigue. "They needed a place to recover, especially Luke, and well, with the horses…I could certainly use an extra hand."

The woman nodded wisely and finished ringing up the purchases. The smile she turned on the two men was more kindly this time.

"I'm glad you're with our Ms. Jeannie," she said. "You take good care of her." Then she leaned over the counter and shook hands with Draco. "And God bless you both."

Hermione prayed that she wouldn't be struck dead for a lie like that and thanked the woman, then hurried them all from the store, bags in hand.

"Iraq?" Draco asked as Hermione piled their bags in the Touareg's backseat, next to Lucius. "Where's that?"

"It's a country the Americans invaded a few years ago, which you'd know if you paid any attention to the muggle world," she explained with a huff as she buckled Lucius into his seat. "Britain got sucked into it as well, for political reasons. Some of our soldiers were deployed to help out."

"And came back looking like us?" Draco asked and whistled. He and Hermione climbed into the front of the vehicle. Hermione glanced at him sharply.

"You really don't know anything, do you?"

"About muggle politics? No. Why should I? We've been in a war of our own."

"Well, so have a lot of muggles. To survive, just like you've been trying to do. Except a lot of it just seems bloody pointless."

"People have died?"

"More than should've, on both sides," Hermione replied. "Anyway, it's not been a popular war, but it was the best lie I could think of on the spot. Hopefully no one will go checking into it. Not many people want to talk about it, so it should be fine. And it's not like you'll be going out into that world often."

"But we may have to live there," Draco murmured as Hermione started the vehicle. She glanced at him again as she reversed out of the lot.

"You think so?"

"Like the wizarding world wants us back," he responded. "I may have to start learning about this war, about these people and their politics. It could be the only life I know someday."

Hermione didn't reply and the drive back to the farm was quiet between them. The radio remained off.


	7. Ten Thousand Charms

**I don't own Harry Potter, period. Boo-hoo.**

**AN: Wow, nice and slow, isn't it? I hope the picture is coming together little by little. That's the aim, anyway. A couple of you have asked about Lucius' pov; I'm getting there. I originally said maybe this chapter, but it'll probs be the next, honestly. I have a plan, don't worry. :)**

* * *

Hermione sat down next to Lucius, one of the new combs in one hand and a bottle of spray detangler in the other. Draco was in the bathroom, taking stock of his spotty beard and assessing his new razor and shaving cream. She knew he'd likely always used a barber or his wand to take care of the problem before he'd been captured; but all the prisoners lost their wands and permission to do magic as soon as they were sentenced. So he'd had to learn over the last few years how to shave, all by himself, and he'd only had shitty tools with which to do it. Not anymore. She'd gotten him a top brand of both materials and she knew he was delighted to put them to work.

It was a good thing, too- not just for his own self-esteem (she scoffed at herself for that thought), but because his being busy meant she could get to work on Lucius' hair without interruption. Draco had stood in the doorway of the upstairs bathroom and watched her wash his father's hair with great care; while the older man had merely blinked furiously through the soap suds and water as they'd streamed into his eyes and down his face. The son hadn't said a word- just watched her actions with a curious expression on his face. Not the kind of look Ginny had asked about, no. Simple curiosity. As if he wanted to ask her a dozen questions, but daren't. As if he was afraid of her, somehow.

If that wasn't laughable, nothing was.

Now Lucius sat quietly on his bed once more, a towel about his shoulders as his only son became reacquainted with the good, old-fashioned art of shaving. Hermione put a hand on his arm.

"I need you to turn around, Lucius," she murmured, clucking at him softly with her tongue. His head indeed turned at the noise, but it was towards her and not away. She smiled. "The other way."

She had to put the items down and use both hands to direct him, but he finally turned away. She tucked one leg beneath herself and then got to work. The detangler misted over his hair and she sprayed it all over before she put it down. Lucius wrinkled his nose.

"Tickles, does it?" she asked. And she began talking to him like he was her once beloved cat, or a now beloved horse. Pulling the comb through again and again until his hair lay smooth and flat beneath her hands, though a bit damp. Speaking softly. Making conversation with the air.

It was incredibly relaxing and she could feel tension leaving her own shoulders as she worked and then, miraculously, leaving his as well.

"I think I'm almost glad you're here," she said. "Your son I could take or leave, but you're no trouble, are you. No, not you. You know exactly what's going on around you, I'd wager- underneath all that determined ambiguity. I was like that, once." She paused and turned him some more to work on the other side, so he was facing her. "You're just like an old stud, wanting to be put to pasture. I have some fellows in the barn you'd like, I think.

"Not," she added pleasantly, "that I think you're _that_ old. Good heavens, you're not an antique. But you do need a good rest, don't you? Tired of it all, that's all you are. Believe me, I know the feeling. I know." And then her voice drifted off and she worked in silence for a few more minutes; her mind on her own troubles- like the nightmares that left her heaving, or the old dreams that kept her from visiting her friends.

Hands still tugging the comb gently through his hair, she continued to be lost in her own thoughts. She was so distracted that she hardly noticed when Lucius closed his eyes and leaned his head gently against her working hands; let alone when the final lines smoothed from his brow, and the lightest of smiles curved his tired lips.

* * *

Draco walked out of the bathroom and down the few feet back into his bedroom. He was holding the bottle of aftershave in his hands and sniffing appreciatively at it.

"Like it?" Hermione asked and he jumped slightly, then snapped the top closed. He ran a hand along his now smooth, soothed jaw line and gave her a nervous glance.

"It's…" Alright, he was going to say, but that was rude and ornery of him. The truth was that it smelled wonderful. Not as wonderful as she smelled, but even if half her face looked like crap she was still a woman; and it had been a long time since he'd been around any of those- especially ones that smelled good. He resisted the urge to shrug off her question and ignore her and set the bottle down on the dresser.

"It's very nice," he managed to say, even if his voice was slightly hoarse and he felt incredibly awkward. "Thank you."

She waved a hand. "Well, are you going to shave your father or shall I?"

Draco walked over to where she stood next to a seated Lucius, who was once again staring straight ahead of himself at nothing. Draco held himself very carefully so that he didn't touch her, or crowd her space, but even so she took a small, gasping breath and moved away.

He watched her quietly for a moment as she struggled to control herself- the telltale shake of her shoulders had returned- and then spoke.

"I'll do it."

She nodded and began to back out of the room. "You can have lunch once you're finished. And then I'll need to take care of your hair." She hesitated at the doorway and looked back at them. "Both of you," she added, and then she left.

Draco turned to his father and helped him stand, then walked him back to the small bathroom, where he sat him on the commode. He noticed his father's hair was, for the first time in years, hanging straight down his back and glistening still with damp and some kind of conditioning product. So, the little witch had lovingly taken care of his old man's hair.

It made tears rise to his eyes and he blinked them away; told himself they were tears of anger and not because he was so fucking _touched_. That should have been his mother's job, by rights. Or better yet, his father should still be able to take care of himself. And instead, this was what his family was reduced to: charity at the will of another mental patient. A broken, diminished family given like a present to an even more broken woman.

The entire world had gone mad. Putting the back of his hand to each eye, he pressed hard, willed the tears to recede, and finally turned on the tap. Then he knelt before his father and began to gently apply the cream.

"This won't hurt a bit, Dad," he said and started to pull the razor down, one long stroke at a time.

Lucius looked past him, not moving, blinking at nothing.

* * *

Lunch was quiet, too, each member of the strange trio thinking his or her own thoughts, each focused on something besides the sandwiches in their hands. Hermione finally broke the silence as she poured some more lemonade for them all. The kitchen door was open and a nice breeze drifted through the house intermittently, the scent of flowers wafting along on top of it.

Juniper, Draco thought and glanced up at Hermione, who seemed to have gotten over her little episode from earlier. He tried to breathe as surreptitiously as possible, not wanting to alarm her anymore. But she smelled so damned…

"I can hear you sniffing me, damn it," she growled and the pitcher of lemonade made a clunk as she put it back on the counter harshly.

He flushed a bright red and ran a hand over the back of his neck, the remains of his sandwich forgotten.

"I can't help it," he murmured.

"Well _try_," she said. It was bad enough she'd caught herself doing the same thing to him earlier, she thought angrily. Davidoff had always been one of her favorite scents; she still didn't know what had possessed her to buy the entire product line for him- for both Malfoys, really. But as soon as he'd gotten within two feet of her she knew she'd made a mistake.

She didn't want men to smell like pretty things, nice things. Men smelled like, well, _men_, and that was how it should be. They smelled like sweat and dirt and other, nastier, things and that was best. Because the farther she kept away from them the better. Except Harry. Harry didn't smell like those things. Sometimes he was dirty, and sometimes sweaty, but it was always accompanied by a spicy, earthy smell- like one of her horses. She loved it.

That's why she couldn't sleep with him anymore. He was too good for her, and he still loved Ginny, and she knew- she _knew_- that Ginny still loved him. So off those memories went, the way of all her other dreams.

And now Malfoy- now both of them- smelled nice. Good, even. And it unearthed a well of memories and dreams she'd been trying desperately bury for eight years. Which was why she'd rushed from the room earlier and locked herself in her bedroom and cried and laughed and finally taken a pill to calm herself. So, now she was out here, having lunch , and preparing to cut their hair, and he had the nerve to smell her again when she'd so clearly-

"I know you have to smell- I know sometimes you won't be able to bloody help smelling me," she finally said. "But you can help letting me know you enjoy it- I'm not here for your enjoyment. You're not bloody here for your enjoyment. You're here to work until I tell you to stop. So if you happen to accidentally smell me, please- _please_- refrain from acting like it's the best damn thing you've smelled in years," she hissed.

He pressed his lips together tightly, willing himself not to protest, to tell her that it _was _the best damn thing he'd smelled in years. What, did she think he was proud, or glad that was how things were? He wasn't! He didn't want to feel a fucking thing for her scarred, mental, muggleborn arse, let alone _like_ smelling her. But Merlin take it, he couldn't help a fucking fact, now could he?

Still, he didn't say a word and merely stared at the sandwich on his plate and finally Hermione seemed to calm down.

"Come out onto the back porch," she said. "If you're done with lunch."

"We're finished," Draco replied after a quick glance at his father.

"Good, then bring that stool with you- the one in the corner." She grabbed the towel, shears, and smaller scissors she'd stacked on the counter and took them outside. Draco followed a moment later, stool in one hand, father right behind him, clinging to the other hand.

"Lucius first, I think," she said. Draco set his father on the stool and Hermione deftly tucked the towel about his shoulders. "His hair is long enough that the trimmings should fall straight away," she murmured and got to work.

"You're not cutting it all off?"

Hermione scoffed. "It's lovely hair. Why would I cut it all off? Do you want me to?"

"No, I just-" Draco fell silent and watched her work. The scissors quickly snipped away the split ends and she even layered the bottom the tiniest bit.

"This is the last part of him, isn't it?" she said quietly and looked at Draco as she whisked the towel away and shook it out. "And you've clearly made a point of trying to keep it up, of not letting anyone else cut it. Why should I take that away from either of you?"

Draco stared at the ground, unable to reply. Hermione eyed him for a minute, then dusted off the back of Lucius' pants with the towel and pointed him towards the bench on the other side of the porch. Draco took his father's place almost reluctantly and Hermione began tugging at his shirt. He clutched his hands around his middle, holding onto it.

"Hey!" he protested and she sighed.

"Draco, your hair is going to get everywhere. Trust me, you don't want it under your collar. I'll put the towel around, but my dust buster is broken and I have no desire to run an unnecessary load of laundry for one measly shirt."

"Why don't you just use magic?" he muttered and felt her hands still. He looked over his shoulder at her and saw the blood had drained from her face. It made the pink scars stand out even more. He looked away. "What?" he said, feeling uncomfortable.

Hermione had wondered when they were going to have this conversation. She'd been hoping they could just avoid it altogether, but trust a Malfoy to notice fucking _everything._

"Take off your shirt," she said, her voice low.

"No!"

"I already saw your bloody back, Draco, now take off the shirt!"

"Yes, and maybe I didn't want you to see it! Why can't you just-"

Hermione tried taking some deep breaths. No, she was still too angry. If she didn't walk away now she might do something she'd regret. Finally she thrust the shears towards him.

"Fine. Cut your own damn hair. I don't care what it looks like, anyhow." And she stalked back into the house. Through the living room, into her bedroom, closed the bathroom door.

Leaned over the sink and stared.

Calm down, she told herself. Calm down, please. He's scared and being ornery because of it. He's ashamed. You've been there. Take it easy.

But she couldn't calm down and seconds later her hair brush hit the wall, followed by her straightening iron and blow dryer. Followed by a bottle of perfume that actually shattered quite nicely against the shower wall. Ginny's scent- a birthday present two years ago. The room was immediately filled with the smell of magnolia and sandalwood and she took another deep breath, then another.

And she finally felt her heart rate slow, her pulse move sluggishly as it does right after a rush of adrenaline or rage. She turned on the tap, splashed some water on her face and then dried it. Telling herself she'd clean up the mess in her bathroom later, she opened the door of her bedroom to find Draco standing outside, staring at her, his eyes wide.

She shut the door again.

* * *

When she finally emerged ten minutes later, she didn't see Draco anywhere in the house. Slowly, she made her way back onto the porch, checking for Lucius.

The older Malfoy was still seated on the bench, his long hair drying in the light Spring breeze and bright sun. There was a neatly folded shirt lying beside him. Draco, she thought. She looked to the other side of the porch and found him. He was seated penitently on the stool, shoulders hunched, towel draped across his back.

He didn't ask her anymore questions as she picked up the scissors and got to work; and the only information she offered was to talk about the village they'd been in; the life she led here and how people knew her; and the class she was leading this afternoon.

Draco ended with hair stuck under his collar anyway.

He didn't complain.

* * *

**AN: OMG I love Draco. Unf unf unf.**


	8. Somewhere Else

**I don't own Harry Potter, blaaaah.**

**AN: Ok, so there's only so many times I can say the same thing, but I've tried to include the last of the exposition in this chapter. Some of it is summary, for those of you who are confused, and some of it is new information. I was going to give background on Hermione's farm and leaving magic anyway, so that's alright. I hope the short interlude at the beginning makes sense. :) Keep reading, anyway, and it will.**

* * *

There were few things, anymore, that Lucius Malfoy noticed or took pleasure in. In fact, he didn't think on it enough to know what those things even were, but he was sure he must have cared at some point. As it stood, there was nothing he cared for anymore.

Except his son. He knew Draco, was always aware of him. Would never leave him. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Because he had left, hadn't he. Sitting as he did now, a shell of a man, watching nothing as it moved around a grassy enclosure, sending the smell of dirt and musk to his nose. Sending wind through his hair with every pass.

He was sitting too close, but it would take too much energy to move now.

But he had no choice. He had to sit this way, live this way. If he lived any other way it hurt far too much. Pain was all his every day life was, now. Perhaps he'd been hit with a real curse, that night so long ago, perhaps not.

Perhaps the only curse that existed was that when he'd finally tried, for the sake of his family and his honor, to be a good man, he'd lost his wife to death and his own life to despair.

And nothing helped. So he allowed himself to be lost to a sea of memory and empty time and he only surfaced when his son needed him most. There were few pleasures left in his mockery of a life, anymore.

His clean, combed hair whipped about his face in a sudden gust of wind and the scent of the one who'd run her fingers over and through it so lovingly filled his senses, shocking his heart into beating again for a fretful second.

There were few pleasures.

* * *

Looking out the barn doors, at the paddock and the activity there, she couldn't help thinking of how far she'd come. All the troubles, all the arguments, all the small triumphs...

When Hermione had first gone to Harry and Ginny and told them her plans, they'd been dead against it. Even Ginny's family had understood Hermione's need to get away and leave everything behind more than her two best friends. Of course, most of the Weasleys simply shook their heads and smiled sadly no matter what it was Hermione chose to do, these days. They were too used to her strange behavior to even try and wonder about it, let alone change her mind.

Harry had come around, slowly but surely, as he always had during their school days. Hermione knew what was best for Hermione, he figured, and his stubborn streak of needing to be right about a situation or person had vanished the same night she'd come back into his life; and he'd learned what had happened to her. She would never be the same again, he'd known, and he'd accepted that and any bizarre decisions that came with it.

But Ginny, oh, she hadn't taken it well, not at all. She still didn't like it, though she never brought it up now. Instead, the fact that her best friend had deliberately chosen to give up a life of magic and move to the country in order to raise horses was deliberately ignored. Ginny never asked why she'd done it (she knew that perfectly well) and certainly never brought up that she felt abandoned by the move (Hermione had not invited Ginny to live with her, not that Ginny would have said yes).

She'd tried the abandonment tactic only once, in a fit of desperation and depression and Hermione hadn't spoken to her for a week. It had been a long week for both witches.

So, here she was, nearly six years after that decision had been made, living quietly, raising horses (and a few chickens and two cows), and giving therapy riding lessons once a week to needy children and young adults. She ran the lessons as a volunteer service through a counseling group, since she had more than enough money; first from awards from the Wizengamot and second from the deaths of her parents…and from Ron.

But she tried not to dwell on that. She knew he'd think the money was well spent. She wanted to grow the practice eventually, once she felt more stable, herself, but of course even just five hours left her drained of energy. The children, parents, and guardians who came to take part in the simple classes knew her as Ms. Jeannie Doyle, her regular alias for the last several years; and they knew she'd been in a terrible accident eight years ago. It was all they knew, but it was enough for the group she worked with and the concerned parents. And once she helped their children learn to speak- even if it was only to a horse- or learn to walk again on their own two feet, all questions seemed pointless.

Harry was the one who'd helped her fix the paperwork so that the transition back to the muggle world under an assumed name went smoothly. He'd even placed the wards on the farm for her. He'd nearly asked her once, why horses, and she would have gladly told him if she'd known the answer, herself. But it was only now, years later, that she knew the truth. Once, when she was a little girl, before magic and Hogwarts and new friends and dangerous games, her parents had taken her to a farm, just like the one she ran now. And she'd gotten to pet the horses and feed them carrots and even rode a pony. It had been a perfect day, with her parents speaking to the owners quietly in the background while she'd played with her new friends; and folded her arms about a barn cat that was willing to be pet; and enjoyed the gentle whuffs and nudges of the horse whose coat she was allowed to brush.

She knew now what that day had been about. She'd been ten, nearly eleven, and her magic had been presenting. Worried, her parents had thought that perhaps she should do something with herself- take riding lessons, work with the big, brown eyed creatures. It seemed like a good idea, she recalled her parents saying as they'd discussed the possibilities. And then…nothing. They'd ultimately decided against it and enrolled her in some art course instead, where she'd drawn very poor pictures and made clay pots that looked like coffee mugs instead of beautiful vases. After that, her letter for Hogwarts had come and she didn't see the farm and its beauties again. But once the war was over- really, truly over- the memory of that day had come back to her in bits and pieces and she'd finally answered the yearning in her heart to leave.

There hadn't been much to leave behind, she thought bitterly. She couldn't leave her old friends behind, not truly. Ginny needed her, and because Ginny needed her, Harry ended up needing her. The Weasleys insisted on staying in touch at least through letters and the meal together. So there were some things she couldn't shake- Gringotts still housed some of her money, of course, and she still existed as a witch on record with the ministry. But everything else, the actual practice of magic- spells and potions themselves- she left to others. She hadn't had a wand anymore by the time she'd escaped and she'd never been able to bring herself to buy a new one. Cauldrons, potions ingredients- she gave them all away. Pictures were distributed to friends, old school papers given to Hogwarts. (She had on good authority from McGonagall that they'd been bound and were kept in the library, where many a new student happily plagiarized them.)

The only things she'd kept willingly were the magical books she'd gathered over those seven years, but they remained locked in a trunk in the attic. She saw them twice a year, when she went up to clean. And every time she did, she would sit down, dust rag in hand, and read straight through every single one. It often took her three days, but she felt it was important. Then she would pack them all away again and leave the attic without a second glance.

Ginny or Harry sometimes gave her clippings from the Daily Prophet (really, she didn't know how that paper managed to stay in business), and a regular issue of the Quibbler appeared on her doorstep once a month. She didn't know how Luna had gotten hold of her address, nor did she care. It was touching, in a way, and she usually couldn't help but read that publication from cover to cover. Luna always included a brief letter in its pages. And every very rare once in a while, Fleur or Molly would send her a copy of Witches Weekly, just for kicks, as they put it.

Those were usually tossed. Most of the time. Any other news her friends felt she should be aware of, they told her directly. For all intents and purposes, Hermione Granger lived like a squib- one who preferred the muggle world to the wizarding one, and she liked it that way.

If the wizarding world can tear itself apart like this, she'd told herself eight years ago after tragedy had struck and then kept coming, then I want no part of it. Just being human is painful enough. If they can recover and stop squabbling, finally effect change, then maybe I'll consider going back.

So far it didn't seem like anything had changed. Especially not once she'd heard about the establishment of RATS. At first, she'd been interested. Then she'd been horrified. Finally, she'd felt disgust. So why did I agree to go along with Ginny at all, she asked herself. She'd been asking herself that the last two days straight. Even her explanation to Harry had seemed hollow, though she knew it was the truth. She'd agreed to go because she'd been hurting and because nothing else had worked so far, to ease the ache in her chest and mend the hole in her soul.

She hadn't gone in with a thought to revenge, of course. She, like the cowards of the war before her, hadn't wanted anything at all to do with RATS. Let the wizarding world solve its own ugly messes, she'd said. Even going in with Ginny to inspect the supposed merchandise was abhorrent. But then she'd gotten inside and seen the looks on those men's faces and she'd thought, I know what that feels like. I feel like that every day, inside.

And she'd wondered if maybe the program actually would be good for her, and good for one of the men. After all, though it was now a perverted version of itself, its original aim had been to provide therapy and closure. To help the captured witches and wizards learn to respect and like people of all ilks and eventually rejoin society, once they'd worked off their debts. But the farther they'd gone into the home and the more faces she'd seen, she'd started to realize it was a mistake, that she wasn't cut out for looking after a Death Eater, let alone using the program as some kind of revenge scheme.

Then Malfoy had cursed her and called her those filthy names and she'd felt a flash of rage so real- a feeling she hadn't had in years. When all I want to do is try and help myself and maybe one of them, too, she'd thought. This is how I'm repaid. And that had been that. She'd made a snap decision and signed the papers before her temper could cool off and now she was stuck with them.

Well, not stuck, as Harry had pointed out. She could always return them to the system. But they were here already and Malfoy insisted on continuing to piss her off…she didn't want to break him. She didn't want revenge anymore, which was a relief to know, but she did want him to learn to respect her. After all that happened, after all that she'd gone through, she deserved his respect, at the very least. She didn't ask that he like her- she didn't even know how his father would feel once he finally broke the surface of his mind- but she deserved to be respected.

Now, watching him lead a child's designated horse from its stall, she could see from the hunch of his shoulders that he was as confused as she was. The three of them, together? They were the most pathetic of them all, she thought wryly. They could be their own special club, they were so pathetic.

That didn't even include how sorry a sight Lucius was, all by himself. Staring blankly into space, having his own son take care of him like he was a two year old…she eyed him once more before she took the horse's reins from Draco.

"Thank you, Drake," she said aloud and he narrowed his eyes, but didn't respond. She'd insisted they keep the false names she'd given them in town, earlier. Since there was no way she could keep their presence on the farm a secret from the riders and their parents- not in good conscience, anyway (another fact she should have remembered and mulled over before she'd signed those bloody papers); it was best she give them aliases, too. So, her removed cousins Drake and his father Luke had come to live on the farm with her as they were in need of some relaxation and recovery. Harry was already pushing the paperwork for the farm's new occupants through to the counseling group.

Hermione had been concerned, at first, how the parents would handle the news and she realized full well that the simple newsletter she'd mailed to them all last week about the "changes" happening at the barn would probably not be enough. But most of the parents she'd met with so far that afternoon had surprised her. After all, if anyone understood the need for therapy and rest, it was them; and besides that, Draco and his father had cleaned up quite well, despite being so thin. She'd received many well wishes for the fates of her so-called cousins and a few of the braver children had even interacted with Draco a very little bit.

Draco, whom she'd put the fear of god into. She knew neither man could hurt herself or anyone else- Harry had been sure to put some extra heavy wards and binding spells on them. She was wandless and thus even more defenseless, he'd told her. So, Harry had doubled the normal spells cast upon the prisoners at release.

Even with that knowledge, however, Hermione had lectured Draco well and good about behaving himself, not that she really expected any trouble from him…which was part of why he confused her. Aside from the occasional rude remark or sneer, he'd been an angel the past three days, compared to his childhood.

As for Lucius…one of the children had gone straight up to him and plopped down beside him as he'd sat at the edge of the riding paddock, watching nothing and listening to the pleasant whinnying of the horse on its line. The boy had sat beside the much older man and stared into space with him and the parents had been so pleased that his mother had practically wept.

"He hasn't willingly gone up to another adult in ages," she explained, handkerchief at her eyes. "Not since his break through with you."

The rest of the children seemed to vary between preferring Drake over Luke, depending on their ages and abilities, but none had been frightened by either man. Hermione was immensely comforted by the fact. Of course, once the children seemed happy, the parents relaxed as well. It wasn't until the middle of the afternoon, though, with the clock pushing on towards the last hour of lessons, that she finally dropped her guard and began to have the good time she normally had.

* * *

So of course she wasn't prepared for the stiff words she overheard two of the parents having with one another much later. She hovered behind the stall door, in the shadows of the horse she'd been grooming, and listened, wondering if she should wait until they left.

"It worries me," one man said to another. "Ms. Jeannie we know, yeah, but these other two?"

"They seem alright. Come on, she's had help before- extra hands during the summer months, off and on."

"That's different. These men are staying with her."

"They're her cousins."

"Cousins, my arse. Did you see the way that one looked at her? I don't trust him and I don't like it. I've half a mind to report it, pull John from the program."

"Think before you do that- why not talk to her? She's always happy to speak with us about questions and problems."

"Hell, where did she even get her training? She runs this as a charity, for chrissakes. She doesn't need the money or the business. I'm telling you, I don't like-"

"Oh, what, now you're going to start imagining things? We're always here, nothing ever happens. She's the sweetest woman-"

"You know my Susan used the bathroom up at the house once, getting first aid? There were drugs in the cupboard."

"Pain killers. She was in that accident." The other man's voice started to sound uncertain.

"I'm telling you, there's something going on. What sort of woman keeps two grown men at her house when there are children about and doesn't say a word? You've got a boy here, maybe you don't care. But I've got Celia in addition to John and I don't need her picking up any slutty ways-"

The other man protested at the one father's language and Hermione felt her cheeks redden in shame and horror. A mistake- this was all a mistake. She'd been right, she shouldn't have brought the Malfoys here. She was going to lose her reputation, all that hard work to come back to normal society and it was all going to disappear. Never mind the real help she was bringing the children. Never mind she couldn't have any children of her own. She stifled a sob and heard the two men stop.

Worried they'd heard her, she quickly wiped her cheeks and prepared to step out of the stall. She stopped short as she saw what had actually made the men go silent.

Lucius was standing before them, his eyes fixed on the man who'd been speaking out of turn, a look of disgust upon his face. He hadn't said a word, only stared at the man until the father's blood drained from his face and his hands fell to his sides in a gesture of apology.

"So, she's, uh, really your cousin, I guess," the other man said, trying to diffuse the situation. Lucius' eyes flicked to him and he spoke.

It was the voice she remembered from so many years ago. Demanding, proud. Hoarse from lack of use, but it was the same.

"She is and she's a good woman. Not," he said slowly, letting the words roll off his tongue, "a slut. You needn't fear for your daughter's moral character." He smiled as if at a private joke. "Never from this woman, at least. She is the best of wi-" he paused, then finished., "women."

Hermione's eyes were wide. He'd been about to say witches, she'd bet on it, but he'd corrected himself at the last minute. He was speaking in whole sentences and he was defending her honor and reputation by _lying _for her.

She must be dreaming. Whatever Lucius she'd expected when he'd arrived at her home two days ago, it had not been this one. She was about to step forward when the other man spoke again, taking the one father's arm.

"We understand," he replied. "She is a wonderful girl. Just been through some hard times, like all of us. David here just over reacted, didn't you?" he said, turning to his friend.

David looked very much like he wanted to turn and run the other direction, but he blustered up some courage and nodded.

"It's just a shock, is all," he said. "I'm- I'm sorry I doubted her. But you understand, right? You're a dad, yourself."

At that, the glow in Lucius' eyes began to go out and it was apparent he was remembering something, starting to draw back into himself. He smiled sadly, flicked his eyes over both men one last time.

"A parent would do anything for his child," he murmured. And then he was gone again, though the other man continued to speak. Draco was at his father's side in another second, looking from one man to the other.

"Dad? What…what happened?" he asked as his father didn't respond. "Look, I'm sorry if he said or did anything- he's been like that for-"

"No need to apologize," the other man said. David grunted his agreement. Their wives and a couple other fathers drifted towards the conversation as the more able children helped one another pull off their riding boots and helmets.

Draco got a gleam in his eye and went on. "I told Jeannie she shouldn't bother with us, that we didn't deserve it, but she insisted we come on with her. When she saw the state Dad was in…" he let his voice trail off for effect. The other men nodded sympathetically. "Anyway, we're here now. You let me know if he causes any trouble for you. If either of us makes the parents or children uncomfortable, let us know and we'll be on our way. We don't want to be any trouble to Jeannie. Not after what she's done for us."

The mothers immediately protested and the fathers sheepishly told Draco to buck up. A few even gingerly clapped their hands on Lucius' back. Hermione watched the entire show with great trepidation and finally, once the group had dispersed some and seemed to forget the original point of the gathering, she slid from the stall and made her way to the front of the barn.

She made another little speech to the parents about her new guests on the farm and while there were still a few uneasy tensions, most of the doubts seemed to have been dispelled. As she waved goodbye to the last family, she wished all her problems were so easily solved.

Take two Malfoys and call me in the morning, she thought and immediately grinned. Then she was shaking with laughter and leaning against the barn door for support. Only a few tears slipped out down her cheeks and she was able to catch her breath shortly; before she turned and walked back into the barn to finish cleaning up and seeing to the creatures.

* * *

**AN: Whew! Long chapter. Sorry for all the continued background and expo, people. I hope you still liked it. :\ We'll be back to our regularly scheduled updates next chapter.**


	9. Keep It Alive

**I don't own Harry Potter. Bleeeh. :(**

**AN: Oo, number 9. How exciting. And I believe someone asked for a little confrontation... Anyway, I think some of the old Hermione is starting to show up, just a little bit. But maybe I'm just insane, too.**

* * *

It was dark out before Hermione finished all the other chores. She avoided talking to Draco at first, because she wasn't sure what she could say. Thanks for behaving yourself like I asked? Thanks for saving my reputation? Thank your father too, the next time he opens his mouth.

She shook her head at all those options and Draco, thankfully, didn't say anything either. Only when they'd finally locked things up and were headed back up the path to the house did he look at her directly. Lucius was walking to his right, a few steps behind and Draco was trying to keep up with Hermione while balancing a basket of eggs. Hermione had a small pail of milk in her own hands. She'd really been neglecting the morning chores recently. Well, no more, she vowed.

"What is it?" she asked, suddenly noticing Draco's eyes upon her.

"That was…interesting," he said.

"Really," she said, her voice low.

"Yes, really," he replied and if he sounded annoyed, she didn't blame him. After all, that had been quite a show earlier and she'd said absolutely nothing…not because she wasn't grateful, but because as the evening wore on, she only felt more conflicted, not less. On the surface the problem had been easily solved, but that didn't mean her conscience wasn't functioning.

The truth was…

"Those fathers are right," she said.

"What?" Draco nearly dropped the basket and Hermione made a frustrated sound at his clumsiness. He glared at her. "You've got to be joking. Those pretentious…this is hardly a championship training grounds," he grumbled.

Hermione smiled sadly. "No, but it's equally important work. And these kids…they need someone with special training. I've had it, but you…and your father, I don't even know what's going on with him half the time. In some ways he's no different from some of the children I have here."

"So you did take courses?" Draco asked, curious. He brushed off her doubts of himself and his father. As if either of them would ever hurt an innocent child. He and his family…they'd never wanted the destruction of the muggle world. That had been Bellatrix, Voldemort himself, Fenrir…they were the truly evil ones. Draco's family had merely been too selfish and when it had become apparent the Dark Lord was bent on total domination they'd tried to get out of it, disassociate themselves. But by then it had been too late.

"Of course I did," she responded and sounded irked he even needed to ask. "Like I'd play with the lives of these children that way. No, I'm certified." She suddenly looked at him sharply as they walked up the steps of the porch and into the house. "What did you overhear, exactly?"

Draco immediately schooled his face into a blank expression. What, let her know that he'd heard about the pills, heard what the men had said about the way he looked at her, besmirched her character…never.

"Nothing, really," he said instead. "I know Dad must have spoken, but I don't what happened, exactly."

She seemed relieved by that and nodded as she set her things down in the kitchen. Milk, eggs, boots by the backdoor. Not the same routine she'd had three days ago. Three days ago she'd taken care of the animals in the morning and then had the day to spend outside with the sun in her hair and plants in her hands. Then the afternoon in the barn, then a relaxing evening with a bath and the telly. Reruns of _As Time Goes By_. Maybe some wine. Maybe just pills.

Three days ago her life had been uncomplicated as it would get before all hell potentially broke loose. Again, she asked herself why she'd let them stay. What they were doing here, why she was risking her happy routine. As happy as it would get, anyway. Why them?

Because they would have died there, she thought. Or in the hands of some other less compassionate witch or wizard. And she didn't want anymore blood shed. So in a moment of weakness, she'd taken them in and now she was sacrificing her therapy program and the joy of seeing and helping those children once a week for the sake of two broken criminals.

She hated herself.

Hands shaking, she put the eggs and milk away, then turned back to Draco.

"He spoke, actually defended me. It was…touching."

Draco's brows drew together. "That's impossible."

"It's not. He looked at them both. In the eyes. He was himself," she insisted. She glanced over at the door to the living room, where she knew Lucius was seated, waiting to be taken somewhere. "He was himself," she said again, more firmly.

Draco followed her line of sight and grew quiet, thoughtful.

"Anyway, it was interesting, the whole experience, was it?" she said, washing her hands at the sink and then drying them.

"It was," Draco murmured. "But you're not pleased. We behaved ourselves," he said. "So what's the matter?"

"I said already," she replied, shrugging helplessly. "The muggle world may not have any idea that you're prisoners- and I know your crimes were light enough for you to be released under RATS, but they're still children. I have an obligation as one of their caregivers." She paused, looking for the words and Draco eyed her.

"You're not being fair to yourself."

"I am," she argued. "And it's only fair to you and your father as well. I have to shut the program down for the summer months, at least, while I decide what to do. Either you two will have to receive training too, or leave." She shrugged again. "You will, at least. Your father…unless he improves I'll have to trust him to stay at the house during the sessions. But we both know I can't do that right now."

"We're warded!" Draco protested. "You, the children, their parents- the bloody horses, for Merlin's sake- you're all protected from whatever you think it is we might do. Which, by the way, I find highly insulting. Dad and I would never, _never _hurt innocent children, or muggles."

"Anymore," Hermione pointed out frostily.

Draco frowned and looked very much as if he might cry. Hermione crossed her arms and sighed.

"Look, Draco. Take Lucius upstairs, get yourselves washed. Then we'll have a bite to eat before we call it a night. We're just tired and hungry right now-"

"If you say things will look better in the morning, I swear to Merlin-"

Hermione closed her eyes, put a hand over them. "You'll what, Malfoy?" she said after she'd counted to five. "You can't do a damn thing to me, as you already pointed out. Now get upstairs and wash. I'll see you down here again in twenty minutes."

Draco continued to eye her for a full minute, brows drawn together in that angry, hurt expression and she almost felt bad. Finally he left the room and seconds later she could hear him walking his father up the stairs.

"And Draco," she called. The footsteps paused. "I would never tell someone things look better in the morning."

The footsteps resumed a moment later.

* * *

That night the cries were worse than ever. Draco was wide awake when they started, so he knew. It was impossible not to hear those anguished sounds were the result of some bitter decisions.

Beside him in their room, his father stirred some.

Draco got up and made his way downstairs, stood before her door. Wished things were different.

Like clockwork, the retching began after one final, mangled cry. Draco dared rest one hand on the door as he listened. Wished very, very hard.

Then he climbed the stairs again and crawled under the covers. His father turned over, took deep even breaths.

Draco closed his eyes.

* * *

"Hermione, you can't possibly-"

"I can do whatever I bloody please, Harry Potter," Hermione responded. "Now don't try to change my mind. I already emailed the head of the program at their offices and received a very prompt response. She said no parents had complained, but she agreed that if I had concerns, I was doing the right thing. And we both know what parents are like. It's only a matter of time before one of them decides he made a mistake." Just like I have, she thought.

Harry sighed from his end of the line and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So what do you want me to do about the paperwork?" he asked. He heard Hermione yawn and knew she'd probably been up all night, thinking about this decision.

"Let it go through. After all, if I decide to let them stay then I'll be glad we did it. If not, it's not really extra trouble, right?"

"Right. Hermione…"

"Harry, don't start, please."

"I understand why you're doing it," he finished and heard her gasp.

"Really?" she asked, her voice sarcastic. Harry glared at the phone.

"Yes, really. I know you think you can help them, that you made a promise by signing those papers and you need to see it through. I know you. You hate to give up on anything. But when it's your career- all that work you put into the therapy, Hermione," he said. "It's too much to quit. I remember you calling me, crying because the work was so frustrating."

"Why'd you have to bring that up?" she asked quietly. "I got top marks anyway, didn't I?"

"You always get top marks, Hermione," he said. "That's not the point. The point is that it took a lot of strength and energy for you to make yourself go back to school that way, to interact, to get the appropriate credentials. And now you're-"

"I'm not quitting, not really," she interrupted. "If any of the parents still want to bring their children out in smaller groups, just to visit the horses, then I won't try and stop them. But I can't lead official lessons with two untrained convicts on the property, around the children…"

"You don't think they'd-"

"No," she interrupted again and Harry sighed. "But I owe it to the hard work I've given this craft to do the right thing and keep doing it."

"And what if this isn't the right thing? Merlin, Hermione. If I'd known signing on for the program was going to cause you all this trouble I wouldn't have okayed it."

"It's not your fault, Harry," she replied. "It's mine, for not thinking things through. Anyway, I went ahead and gave them the name of another barn not far away that also has licensed therapists and horses. And I called that barn and just made a wire transfer so the lessons for the rest of the year and over the summer months are taken care of for all the families. Plus, once I feel alright with it, I can always leave Draco and Lucius here and go help out at the other barn."

"You thought of everything."

"I always do," she quipped and Harry smiled, exchanged goodbyes with her and promises to see one another soon, and hung up. But he stared at the phone unhappily for several seconds afterwards, a frown on his face.

"Not this time, you didn't," he whispered. "Not this time."

* * *

Draco looked up at the house from where he stood out in the yard, his arms propped on a shovel, a hole in the ground and his father sitting beside it, running one hand through the pile of dirt. Lucius was methodically letting the dirt sift down through his fingers before he scooped up another handful and repeated the process. Draco had only raised a brow at the activity. At least it was a sign of life.

Which was more than he could say for Hermione, who had woken them at six to go out and collect eggs and milk cows. Then she'd fed them and sent them out into the yard to plant some trees at the marked spots while she made phone calls.

Draco didn't bother to tell her he had no idea how to plant trees. He assumed she knew that and wanted him to do a shitty job. Maybe so she could yell at him for it later, he had no idea. Not that she really yelled at him anyway.

What was up with that?

Anyway, planting a tree couldn't be that hard, could it? Dig a hole, put tree in the hole, put dirt back in the hole, water it. It sounded simple enough, in theory. But then there was the problem of the sack, or bag, or whatever it was that was wrapped around the bottom of the tree. Surely that wasn't meant to stay on? But how did he take it off?

His staring at the house had turned into glaring at it and he looked back down at the hole, then lifted the shovel again. Put your back into it, Hermione had said. Easy for her to say. He somehow managed to get another shovelful of dirt out of the hole and onto the pile. His father continued to find it fascinating.

Draco sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow, and stared at the house again.

Nothing.

He continued to shovel.

* * *

Fifteen minutes and one lopsided tree later, Draco had had enough. He looked at his father, who was now on his back staring into the sky under the shade of the sad little sapling, decided he was fine, and marched up to the house. On the back porch he realized the shovel was still in his hands and he tossed it aside, where it fell to the ground with a clank.

Hermione heard the noise and walked out of her bedroom, concern on her face.

"What is it?" she asked, taking in Draco's sweaty figure and disgruntled face.

"You," he said.

"What? It's not the trees, is it? Have you done already?"

"One," he admitted, taken aback by her single-mindedness.

"One? Oh, Draco. There are three more. Do you need some water, is that why you stopped?"

"I don't want water," he replied, voice low.

Hermione's hands began to shake and she folded her arms across her chest.

"What do you want, then?" she asked coolly.

"I want…some answers," he finally ground out. "You, this place, horses? Therapy? When you're mental as a loon? It's ridiculous and I want some bloody answers."

Her face shut down and he repressed a shudder at that dead half, the cool brown orbs staring at him. Stared right back at her.

"You don't have a right to ask those questions," she replied.

"I don't? But I have enough of a right to stay here and be the cause of you quitting something you love?"

The dead expression was gone and replaced with consternation.

"Why do you even care?"

"Why do you?" he shot back. "And what about the magic? Why did Potter cast wards on us you're ten times more capable of casting? Why did you have a tantrum yesterday when I brought it up? If you're going to exchange me and my father for something you obviously care more about, we deserve to know why you're doing it. Just what in hell do you think you'll get out of keeping us?"

"Draco-"

"What are you really after? What are you really-"

"Draco!" she barked and he stopped abruptly, surprised to see he'd taken more than a dozen steps towards her in his anger and frustration.

"Back away, now," she said, her voice hard even though she was shaking all over.

"Granger, I didn't mean-"

"I said get the fuck away from me."

He backed up. She glared at him, chin jutting out proudly.

"Don't you ever threaten me that way again." She took a deep breath. "I may not have a wand, but you don't have to have one in order to do terrible things to people. I know," she said.

He swallowed hard. "Granger…Hermione-"

"Shut up. You want answers, I'll give you a few."

"I can tell you what happened to us, if that makes it better," he offered. She rolled her eyes.

"You think I don't already know? Besides, this isn't like some barter system. 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours,'" she said, mockingly. "No, Draco, I requested your file as soon as I'd signed on the dotted line. Better to know what I was getting into. You were very honorable the last few years, by the way," she added, sneering at him.

His nostrils flared and he started to step towards her again.

"Stay where you are!" she yelled and he froze. "On the run from both sides, only stealing to survive, not hurting a soul except in self-defense. All for the sake of getting your father out of the country safely. Very noble of you."

She continued to sneer at him through the speech, but it slowly faded once she was done talking, replaced by empty sorrow. She stared past him and her brows drew together in memory. He nearly spoke to her then, but she shook herself a minute later and glanced at him.

"I don't blame you for any of that, I guess. I don't see what's so wrong with trying to take care of your family. Maybe that's why I'm trading it all for you, right now. Maybe I just want to see one success come out of the mess that was left behind. At least one person deserves to leave, to start over," she said. "Why not you and him? He may have done some despicable things, but he's paying for them now. Your whole family is paying for its cowardice. And you…you got those scars somehow, didn't you?"

"But why now?" We're not really worth it, he thought. No one else thought so, wasn't that what the point of the scars was? He tried hard to focus on her, to get past his own memories.

"It's been eight years," she began, than paused, bit her lips, shook her head. The strain it took just to say it aloud was too much. Even now, years later. "Six years, really," she managed to continue. "I gave it all up six years ago. My wand, my magic- it's hard enough living like half a person in the real world. Can you imagine how it felt there, surrounded by the stuff that started it all?"

He frowned. He had no idea what she was talking about, except that it had to do with suffering, but that, at least, was something he could identify with. She caught him staring at her and raised her brows at him.

"And that's more than I had to tell the likes of you. I know you're probably not satisfied with it, but it has to be enough. It's already more than I've told most people."

"What about your work?"

"That can wait. I've put it on hold till I'm happy with the situation here. Then we'll see. I won't give it up forever for scum like you, don't worry," she explained. Her words were harsh, but there was a lightness to her tone and he knew she was joking, in her own way.

"I wouldn't expect you to," he replied stiffly.

"Good. Now get your arse back out there and finish planting my trees."

He smirked. "Alright, but you'll regret it. The one in the ground already is…a bit crooked."

She stared at him.

"Crooked."

"Crooked," he confirmed.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, prayed for strength. When she opened them, Draco was looking away, as if he was uncomfortable. It seemed to be a perpetual state between them.

"Then we'd better go straighten it out," she said and headed for the door, rolling up her sleeves as she went.

Draco ducked his head as he realized he was smiling and followed her back out into the sunshine.

* * *

**AN: Yeah I have no idea what I'm doing, clearly. X**


	10. Casual Lies

**I don't own Harry Potter. Meh.**

**AN: Wow, chapter 10. Hoo-wee, boy. I hope you like it. :)**

* * *

His lips found hers in the dead of night and they had one moment of recognition before her breath was gone and his hands were at her waist. She writhed beneath him, put a hand to his shoulder to push him away and instead she only brought him closer. Push, pull, push. He groaned into the darkness and she twisted her head about, trying to escape him. Or was it escape? What was it- who- Her lips formed a word as she cried. Ron. Ron, ron-

"Ron!" she gasped and sat up in bed.

There was no one there.

Hermione stared into the dark space before her and then flopped back onto her bed. Well, at least she hadn't woken ready to retch again. That was a nice change. Her lips pursed as she mouthed his name again. She practiced saying it aloud, whispering it to the air. Then she rolled over in her bed and pressed her face to the pillow and prayed she would never wake up.

* * *

Draco lay awake in bed, waiting for the cries. When none came, he got up and went downstairs anyway. Stood outside her door. What was the matter? What if something had happened to her that prevented her crying out?

Or what if, he told himself angrily, she's just managed to sleep through the night because you spent all day planting trees and pulling weeds and she's tired? What if she's smarter than you and simply sleeping right now?

Draco tried to make himself climb the stairs again, but every creak of the old house, every breath of air through a crack made him turn back and stare at her door expectantly. He stood outside her room, pacing, standing still, pacing again, his head in his hands, for over an hour.

Finally, when he was so weary he couldn't see straight, he heard a soft noise coming from behind the door. He leaned his head on the wood, pressed his ear to it.

She was crying.

He stared stupidly at his feet, wondering why he felt so happy to hear her crying. He shouldn't be happy she was crying- he _wasn't _happy about it. He realized the feeling coursing through his chest was relief that he knew she was still there and alive.

Practically crawling, he made his way up the stairs and to his bed and slept soundly the rest of the night.

* * *

Ginny was pounding on the kitchen door and it was six in the morning.

Hermione was pissed off. Sure, it was about the time she'd be getting up and starting chores anyway, but that didn't give her Ginny the right to wake the whole damn farm.

The thought gave her a small thrill and she kicked herself mentally. Right, she was excited because there was a 'whole damn farm' now, except it consisted of two convicts and a mental case, she reminded herself. She really better not start counting her chickens before they hatched. Otherwise she wouldn't have enough eggs for omelets. She grinned at her own early morning humor and reached for her robe.

"Hermione! Please come unlatch this damn thing!" Ginny called and Hermione hurried out of her bedroom to meet her friend's request.

"Shh," she hushed Ginny as she let her in. "I think they're still asleep."

"So?" Ginny said. "What does that have to do with anything? Is that why you're giving up the therapy, so they can sleep longer?"

Hermione gave the other witch a mild glance. "I see apparating this early makes somebody cranky," she said as she started the coffeepot.

Ginny glared at her. "Oh, please. When were you going to inform me of these new plans?"

"What new plans?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

"Ginny, I knew you would act this way."

"Of course I'm acting this way! I'm your best friend! You're supposed to talk about your issues with me, not decide to devote yourself whole-heartedly to two worthless Death Eaters and then forget to tell me!"

Hermione slammed a coffee mug down in front of Ginny. "I already asked you to keep it down once."

Ginny lowered her voice and continued to glare.

"Oh, pardon me. I wouldn't want to wake your hired men. Tell me, are they-"

Hermione whirled about, put both hands on the counter and stared Ginny down.

"Whatever you are about to say, don't. I promise you, you will regret it later and I do not want your whiny arse bawling all over my living room and drinking my best wine. Is that clear?"

Ginny closed her mouth and Hermione turned around, waited quietly for the coffee to finish perking. Then she poured them each a mug.

"Now what's happened? Have you tried to give up smoking? Is that what's behind this?"

Ginny drank her coffee, eyed Hermione over the rim of the mug. "I don't know what you mean."

"Ginny, we've been through enough together that I know how your mind works. Something has set you off. What is it? New top shrunk in the wash? Utility bills higher because of the live-in servant?" She eyed Ginny appraisingly. "Or is it the live-in help, himself?"

Ginny shook her head, took another sip of coffee. "No, I just…I hate to see you turning your life upside down for those two fools. They don't deserve it."

"Everyone deserves a second chance."

"That sounds more like you," Ginny said softly and smiled. "But I thought you didn't want anything to do with wizards anymore."

"Maybe I'm just a masochist."

"Or maybe you really do think they deserve a second chance, as strange as I find it," Ginny replied. "So what, are you going to try and reform the whole RATS system now? Ready to get back into the wizarding world, effect some change?"

Hermione snorted and set her mug in the sink. "No." She ran her hands across the counter top and then turned around again. "Not yet, anyway." She looked at Ginny keenly. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

Ginny just stared at her, brows raised, a wry smile on her face. Seconds later an answering smile hit Hermione.

"Don't answer that," the women chortled at the same time.

* * *

Ten minutes later Hermione was handing Ginny some extra boots and leading her out to the barn.

"What about getting your free labor to do this for you?"

Hermione shrugged. "I already showed them the ropes- or one of them. So there's no question that Draco can do the work. But I think I rather wore them out yesterday with the planting. Besides, there's nothing quite like coming out here by myself, in the early morning." She opened the barn door to let the breeze in and heard the tired whinnies of greeting from several of her early risers.

Walking along the aisle, she stopped and greeted each horse that was awake- or just waking- and Ginny did the same.

"There," Hermione murmured, cupping the nose of a chestnut mare. "You remember your Aunty Ginny, don't you? Yes," she said, clicking her tongue. Ginny followed suit and rested her hand on the mare's neck and smiled at Hermione.

"They are beautiful," she admitted.

"Soothing. I love them, even when they misbehave. But that hardly ever happens with you, does it girl?" she cooed to the mare, who tossed her head as if agreeing. Ginny laughed, delighted, and Hermione cast her another smile before she began to open stall doors and attach leads to a few of the horses.

"Time to go outside, girl," she said and the chestnut followed her happily. Then came her Arabian and some retired Thoroughbreds she'd had brought over from the states. After she'd secured the pasture gate and Ginny had hung on it, gazing out over the serene fields covered with morning mist, they headed on back to the cows. From there they collected some more eggs and then they left the quiet peace of a barn in the morning to deposit their treasures in the kitchen.

In the kitchen, where Draco sat at the table, looking tired as all fuck and trying desperately not to glare at them as they walked in, smiling and chatting.

Hermione merely raised a brow at his stony silence and put their things down.

"You could have made breakfast," she said and Ginny leaned against the wall, watching them both curiously.

"Why didn't you wake us?" he asked.

"There is an alarm clock in your room," she replied and tossed an orange to Ginny. "Could you peel that, please?"

Ginny smiled at her and moved up to the counter. Draco looked over and blinked a few times. Then he looked back at Hermione.

"So you already did all the chores?"

"We did," she said. "Disappointed?"

"Not in the least," he snapped. He stood up and started to walk out, then paused. "Good morning, by the way," he said stiffly to Ginny.

She glanced up from the orange and gave him a look. He didn't bother returning it and left. Ginny frowned.

"What the hell was that?" she asked Hermione pointedly.

Hermione started scooping out flour for pancakes and reached for a few eggs. "Nothing. That was Malfoy. It's how he is."

"You put up with him talking to you that way?"

"It's not like he can follow through with any of his attitude or threats," Hermione replied. "And he's stuck here until he's released. So his mouth is the only real freedom his has."

"Release…" Ginny rolled the idea around in her head for a moment and the women worked in silence. Ginny finally opened her mouth again.

"You really think RATS cares whether they're rehabilitated or not, that the Wizengamot cares?"

Hermione shrugged. "It doesn't matter if they care. It's what the program was originally designed to do and it's what I care about." She glanced up at Ginny, suddenly concerned. "You don't think they'd actually force them to stay in the program, do you? Even once they are fit-"

"I don't know," Ginny interrupted her, "and I don't care. You're the one who's gone all soft on me."

"Bloody hell, Ginny, what do you expect me to do? Beat them? Flay them alive? Force them to crawl about on all fours like animals? They're not animals and this isn't SPEW. They're men who are paying a price for their decisions and I can't just turn them out, not now. Not after I've seen them, worked with them."

"Not even for the sake of your own sanity, your own job? Those children need you, too. And you need them. No amount of kindness to the Malfoys is going to stop your shakes, or- or bring Ron back!"

Hermione didn't hesitate. She slapped Ginny across the face and the other witch never saw it coming. She held her cheek for a minute, staring at Hermione with her mouth open and eyes wide, tears filling them.

Hermione's stuck her chin out and swallowed, her hands at her sides in fists. Ginny didn't say a word, just stood there, and after a moment of tense silence Hermione turned around and hunched over the counter. She clung to it for support as her shoulders started shaking, then slowly let herself slide down it to the floor, tears streaking down her angry face.

"You should leave," she mumbled to Ginny.

"That's the dumbest thing I've heard all year," the red haired witch replied. She knelt down in front of Hermione. "I deserved that."

"No one deserves to be hit," Hermione whispered.

"Maybe not, but I've deserved a good tongue lashing from you for ages and you've never said a word. So consider the score settled. Now are you going to stop bawling for shame and get up, or do I have to make the pancakes for you?"

Hermione sniffled into her sleeve and Ginny rolled her eyes and produced a tissue.

"Ginny, I'm so-"

"If you say you're sorry I'll return the favor. Now come on, up." She helped Hermione stand and watched as the other witch wiped at her ruined face and then berated herself mentally. "Come on, Hermione. Being mad at yourself won't help anything. And I…that was really out of line. I shouldn't have said it and I apologize."

Hermione merely nodded and reached over, took her hand. She gave it a good squeeze.

"I love you, Ginny. I do."

Ginny shifted about and finally said, "I love you, too," in a gruff voice. It was immediately followed by her checking her pockets. "Merlin, I need a smoke."

Hermione watched her friend walk out onto the back porch and proceed to smoke two cigarettes in a row. Turning her attention to the pancakes, she pulled the griddle out and had just finished the first batch when Ginny came back inside. There was still no sign of Lucius or Draco, but she could hear the sounds of them being awake and about coming from upstairs. A sudden thought hit her.

My walls are thin, she thought. My walls are thin and I have nightmares.

Her face turned ashen and Ginny stared at her.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh…nothing. Just wondering if I shouldn't have someone come and soundproof the house for me."

"Ah-ha, so you are plotting evil deeds," Ginny said.

"Don't be absurd." Hermione glanced at the ceiling again. Ginny looked up too and then watched her friend, a bemused look upon her face. The red was fading from her abused cheek already- Hermione hadn't really put much force into the action.

"So, about your job-"

"Ginny, I'm not giving it up forever. Just for the summer- and you know I often take a break then anyhow. It's still a strain for me, no matter how much I enjoy it. I'm still only at one lesson a week."

"So it's not permanent." Ginny seemed relieved and Hermione handed her a plate with a stack of cakes on it.

"Not in the slightest. I still don't know how it will all work out, but I promise, I'm not giving up anything for them, not really."

Ginny eyed her friend as she passed Ginny the butter and syrup and then went over to the foot of the stairs to call up to her strays.

Somehow, she doubted Hermione's word. But the things she was so clearly giving up- the lessons, even if it was only for a while; the peace and quiet of solitude; the freedom to do as she pleased out here without consequence… Those were all things Hermione had sought out to try and help herself heal. And so far, eight years after, she was doing much better, but the mental scars were far from healing over. The peace and freedom she'd had before signing on for the program had been illusions, really. So while she was giving them up…somehow, Ginny thought it wasn't much of a sacrifice.

Just the fact that Hermione could stand in the same room with Lucius and Draco and not quiver and quake where she stood; could stare them down and order them about; could speak to them firmly and without hesitation…they were triumphs. Ginny wished she felt the same victories in her own pathetic life. Her eyes flicked to the bruise on her wrist, hidden by her long sleeves. She glanced back at Hermione, helping Lucius down the final steps of the staircase, and Draco, hovering about them anxiously.

With a longing she hadn't felt in ages, she realized she wanted that, too. Kindness and compassion for others, no matter what. She was tired of the rage that took over her life and made her frightened of everything.

Standing up, she wordlessly pulled out a chair for Lucius and her eyes met Hermione's.

Help me.

* * *

**AN: Poor Ginny. At least, I feel sorry for her. She's let anger at feeling helpless turn her into a bitch. But she's coming around, little by little, I think. And we should have some more Lucius soon (but not too soon). You guys really liked his little episode of lucidity, it seems.**


	11. Waiting For You

**I don't own HP at all and am making zero dollars here. Rararar.**

**AN: Sorry it's shorter- but no less drama filled. Yay!**

* * *

Breakfast passed without further incident, though Hermione knew Ginny still wasn't completely happy. Well, that was too bad. Hermione wasn't completely ok with things, herself, but one had to move on, hadn't she?

The irony of the thought made her want to die from laughter, but she managed to keep things bottled up. She suspected she'd have a good break-things session later, after her friend left. Speaking of…

"When do you need to get back, Gin?"

Ginny looked up guiltily from where she stood, washing dishes.

"Oh, I…soon, probably. I left while Zabini was still asleep. But the wards we had to have put on our properties are strong enough; he can't get into any trouble while I'm gone."

"And the looks you thought he'd been giving you?"

Ginny turned back around and shrugged. "Those? I was just…imagining things, really. No need to worry about it-"

Hermione watched with narrowed eyes as her friend abruptly dropped the subject. She took in Ginny's hunched shoulders, the impatient shaking of one leg as she sudsed the plate she holding. That was when she noticed it- the bruise on one wrist. Ginny had rolled her sleeves up in order to help wash while Draco stood by quietly and dried as he'd been taught.

And so Hermione's quick eyes took in the bruise, roughly shaped like a hand, that lay about that one delicate structure; and she hissed in anger and walked up to her friend, grabbed the plate and shoved it at Draco; so she could take both of Ginny's arms and twist them about, checking for other injuries.

Ginny glared at her as the washrag dripped all over the floor and tried to wrest her arms away, but her friend was stronger than she. Had been, ever since Hermione had taken up horses and Ginny had quit Quidditch. Had quit everything.

"What the hell is this," Hermione said, bringing her eyes up to Ginny's, anger painting her face.

Ginny tried to pull away again, but Hermione held her fast. Draco took in the situation quietly, though his eyes widened slightly. So, Blaise had not gone quietly. Stupid man. Didn't he want to live? Or did he think being dead, or locked in a tiny room the rest of his life was better than living under a 'blood traitor'?

Stupid man.

Draco took the opportunity of their stand-off to grab the washrag from Ginny's hand. Hermione's eyes flicked to his and he turned away, plate and rag in hand.

"Go on," he said. "I have these."

Hermione's brow furrowed, but she took Ginny's hand and dragged her into the living room anyway, closing the door to the kitchen. Then, instead of yelling straight off, she forced Ginny into a chair and then paced back and forth for several tense, quiet seconds. Ginny frowned at her feet, then buried her head in her hands.

Hermione stopped pacing and looked at her.

"Ginny. What is going on?"

"The way he looks at me…" Ginny whispered, as if she hadn't heard Hermione. "I confronted him. He fought me. When I tried to get him into his room, lock him in, he fought me." She twisted her head about in anguish and looked up at Hermione.

"I don't know how to handle him. I thought I did, but instead of talking we insult each other- don't ask. I know, I know. That's what I wanted, what I thought I wanted. I wanted to grind him up and leave him angry, broken- I wanted to be the death of any of those scum. But when it comes down to it…I can't do it. I hate being this way." She began to cry, head in her hands and Hermione knelt before her.

"Ginny, you have to talk to Harry."

Ginny shook her head. "I can't! I can't…I should be able to handle this, damn it! Tell me how you do it, Hermione. Please, how do you live with them and not fight with them, not murder them while they sleep? Every time I try to show him a little kindness, give him some freedom, he just fights harder, says nastier things. I can't deal with it, Hermione."

"It's not that simple, Ginny," Hermione said. "I think I just got lucky with these two. You can't look at Lucius and not feel compassion, or just pity. Draco…he's a bit much sometimes. But he backs down when I tell him to." She looked off through the front windows, watched the trees they'd planted just yesterday swaying gently in the breeze. She looked back at Ginny.

"Honestly, he's just as tired as I am. Just as hurt- not in the same ways," she admitted. "But still in need of comfort. Tired of fighting." She shook her head. "I'm telling you, it's not easy, but I got lucky. I picked the right ones…if there is such a thing in this situation. In as much as any of this is _right_," she added bitterly.

Ginny sniffed and wiped her face several times.

"So you can't help me."

"I can advise you to be patient, to not let him get to you. To be firm when he tries to get under your skin. And don't ever let him- Ginny, how did he manage to lay a finger on you in the first place?"

"I don't know," Ginny said and sniffed again. "No, wait. I touched him first. I grabbed his shirt front. He was able to bypass the spell that way."

"But not even that much should have…" Hermione's voice drifted off. "Ginny, you have to call Harry. Or I will. I think it's the wards. Harry put some extra ones on me, on the house, on the Malfoys, since I'm wandless."

Ginny shook her head, but Hermione took her by the shoulders and then handed the phone to her.

"You call him," she said seriously, "or I will."

"I already cast extra spells, after that night," Ginny began, but Hermione started dialing anyway. "Hermione, it's not even eight! You'll wake him up-"

The phone started ringing and Hermione stood up, but kept one eye on Ginny to make sure she didn't go anywhere.

* * *

Across the miles, in a flat located in back London, Harry's bedside phone began ringing wildly. He cracked one eye open and stared at it for a second, then closed his eyes again and rolled over. It kept ringing. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes again, stared at the ceiling.

It kept ringing.

With an exaggerated sigh, he finally reached over and answered it, pressed the speaker phone button. He didn't say anything at first, just yawned, sat up, stretched. He heard a stern, "Harry?"

"Harry, it's me."

"Yes, I recognize your voice, Hermione. What is it?" he asked, unable to help being annoyed. He'd been having a fucking fantastic dream. A cozy cottage in Cornwall, he thought, with a completely naked witch lounging in a very large bed. Which witch was it…damn it, he couldn't remember.

"It's Ginny."

At that he straightened up and immediately began looking to see where he'd thrown his robes last night.

"What's going on?" he asked. He thought he could hear her voice in the background, protesting Hermione's high-handed treatment. That made him smile, despite the worry coursing through his veins.

"Zabini- no, Ginny, shut up and sit down- has been giving her trouble. I want you to double check her spell casting. Obviously the original wards aren't strong enough for the situation."

"What did he do?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling incredibly angry. Of course this would happen, he thought. If only Ginny would let me help her, would come to me _before_ this shit happens- "What's that?"

"I said, you'll have to talk to her about that. If you could meet her at her flat in about half an hour, that would be wonderful."

"I have work at nine. Better make it now. I want to talk to her," he growled.

"Harry, this isn't entirely her fault-"

"I never said it was," he replied. "I don't blame her for any of this- any of it! I never have. But I want to talk to her. It's about fucking time we did, isn't it?"

"Ok, Harry. Ok. Look, can you at least make it five minutes? Give her a chance to get over there-"

"Now," he growled again. "I'll be waiting." He nearly hung up then, but a sudden concern made him stop. "And you? Are you alright?" he asked Hermione abruptly.

There was silence for a second and then her steady voice came through.

"Harry, when am I ever alright?"

And she hung up. Harry stared at the phone, shook his head, and turned it off. Then he shrugged into his robes, cast a quick charm to clean up his evening's beard, and headed out the door.

* * *

Hermione threw the phone onto the sofa and then knelt before Ginny again.

"He's going over now; he'll be waiting for you."

"Oh, hell, Hermione-"

"Come on," she said. "I'll drive you off the property. You can have a smoke if you're quick about it." Hermione cast a sidelong glance at Ginny as she plucked her keys from their hook by the kitchen door. She poked her head into the kitchen as well, knocking on the frame first.

Draco was still at the sink and didn't turn at the sound. Lucius looked as if he was enjoying the leftover smells and sounds of morning. Her expression softened without meaning to.

"Can I trust you not to burn down my home? I'm driving Ginny to the end of the drive so she can leave."

Draco shrugged and Hermione turned to go when his voice caught her ear again.

"Is she ok?"

Hermione stopped, turned around again. Her eyes narrowed. "Do you know something about Zabini, Draco?"

He shrugged again. "Just that he's an idiot. The only person he cares about is himself."

Hermione frowned and opened the door again. "We'll talk about this later." Then she was gone.

"Suit yourself," he murmured to the empty air. At the table, Lucius' eyes suddenly focused on the space where Hermione had been. A concerned look crossed his brow briefly and then the nothingness filled his eyes again.

Draco continued to wash dishes, quite unaware of anything but the sun coming in the kitchen windows.

* * *

They reached the apparition point quickly enough and Ginny turned to Hermione again, panic behind her eyes.

"Can't you come with me?" she asked as she stubbed out her cigarette on the fence post.

"No, Ginny. Not only will I not leave these two here alone, but this is your problem. Yours _and _Harry's. He wants to help you. Let him."

"I just-" Ginny tried again and stopped short. She gazed off back down the drive. Hermione was struck by a sudden impulse. She leaned out the window and placed a hand on Ginny's shoulder.

"Come back. Once a week, Gin. Ride my horses. Help me take care of them. You already come out at least once a week- I can give you lessons."

Ginny snorted. "Like what, be one of your therapy kids?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, like one of my kids. You need help- you asked me for help earlier. This is how I help. Please, Ginny. Think it over, ok? Then we can always go back to the house and get good and pissed afterwards."

"I don't know…"

"Just consider it. Tell me what you think next time you call. And, Ginny-"

Ginny looked at her, arms crossed. Hermione smiled.

"Just listen to what Harry has to say. Hear him out. I promise you won't regret it."

Hermione looked so earnest, so eager, that Ginny felt her defenses melt a little. Just a weensy bit. She gave her best friend a short nod, followed by a smile and half hug through the window. Then she walked over the line, waved, and turned on the spot.

Hermione sat at the wheel, watching the space where she'd been sadly. Partly because whenever she saw someone perform magic there was a hard tug in her own chest, the desire to set that part of herself free as well. But mostly, because she hoped- oh, how she hoped- that Ginny would heed her advice. It was about fucking time her two best friends found some peace and started over.

Because whatever Ginny did, Harry Potter would never get over her, and it would be a fucking shame to watch him spend his life wishing after a witch who needed him just as badly as he needed her.

With a small sigh, Hermione put her Touareg in reverse, backed around, and then headed back up to her house- where two wizards who needed her pretty badly were waiting, washing dishes and staring into space, the both of them. She wasn't sure yet if she needed them…but anything was better than the stagnation; the endless nightmares; and the horror of each morning she awoke and Ron was still dead; and her life was still a shambles. Anything was better.

* * *

**AN: OMG give me a cookie. Now. Nooooowww. :D**


	12. The Fight Ain't Over

**I don't own Harry Potter. Bleeeh.**

**AN: Wow, yet another chapter. Also, it's come to my attention that it's about time I included a much belated warning that this story is totally AU after book seven, EWE, and contains completely ooc behavior. Consider yourselves warned.**

* * *

Hermione parked the car and walked back into the house. She let the door swing shut behind her and started for the kitchen, then changed her mind and walked back through the living room to her bedroom. When she got there, she picked up the phone and the first thing she did was call her stylist and make sure she was on for her three month straightening. It was only 8:30, so she left a message. Then she paced for a few minutes, debated calling Ginny to check on her, decided she was being ridiculous, and finally put the phone down again.

After that she sat on the edge of her unmade bed for fifteen minutes, staring out her windows at the trees and sunshine.

What the hell was she doing?

Seconds later she nearly jumped out of her skin when her thoughts were echoed by the figure standing in the open doorway.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, innocently, he thought. He'd waited in the kitchen for the last thirty minutes, first for her to come back, and once she had, for her to come looking for him. When she hadn't, he'd continued to wait until he'd gotten tired of watching the dishes dry.

Surprisingly, the activity of washing the dishes themselves hadn't been so bad. It had almost been relaxing, to stand and look out the window; and think about nothing while he wiped the washrag along the dishes, over and over. But he drew the line at watching them dry. Not that he had the right to draw any lines, but he'd rather be kept busy than sit and stare at nothing all day like his father did. Otherwise he'd go mad from thinking of all the mistakes he'd made and how wonderful his life had been, back before Hogwarts. Back when his family had renounced Voldemort and he could play with his other elitist friends without worry that someone might make fun of him, or worse, attack him.

Of course, those days hadn't exactly been fancy free, either. But he had to have something good to cling to. Otherwise there really was nothing, but a long stretch of horses and mucking stalls from here to the day he died. And doing it all for a nutcase. For two nutcases, really, if he counted his father.

But he tried not to think about his dad that way.

Now he stared at Hermione expectantly and she returned his inquisitive look with a blank stare.

"What?" she said.

He looked away. Merlin, her face was disturbing. One half Granger and the other half something else…he'd heard about it, of course, but he'd never seen it. And who'd told him about it? Zabini.

"I wanted to know if there's anything I can do," he tried again. "Er, I mean anything for me to do."

Hermione took a deep breath and looked back out her windows, clearly considering his question this time.

"There may be." She looked back to him. "Fancy a riding lesson?"

He sneered. "What is this place, Granger's Country Resort for Criminals?"

Hermione glared at him. "No, it's a horse farm run by a trained therapist and since I've canceled classes here for the next four and a half months, I have nothing to do except teach the likes of you." She stood up, crossed her arms. "You asked if there was something you could do, I've told you. And later today, after the lesson," she continued, "you can start reading my Encyclopedia Britannica."

Draco made another face, this time thoroughly confused. "Encyclopedia what?"

"Britannica. Yesterday, you said you should probably learn more about the muggle world. Well you can start with the As and work your way through the alphabet. Furthermore, tonight you will sit and watch the BBC news with me. I'll start taking the local paper too, that will help."

"I really-"

"Tomorrow I'll start giving you lessons on the computer as well. Also, I'd like to try some therapy with your father-"

"Now hold on!" Draco shouted angrily. "You can do whatever ridiculous things you want to me, force me to learn all about muggles, make me ride your damned horses, but I draw the line at you doing a thing to my-"

"He's a sick man, Draco," Hermione inserted, her voice gentle, but firm. "And I think I can help him. You saw how he came alive yesterday in the barn; I think that with enough time we can draw him out of his shell." Draco stared at her warily and she offered him a small smile. "We- us working together, to help him."

"I…why?"

"I already answered some of your questions," she reminded him. "Now is not the time to ask anymore, I promise you. But you can trust that when it comes to your father, I really don't see the snide man from Flourish and Blotts, or the dangerous one from the Department of Mysteries. He's not there anymore. Those things happened a long time ago- not just in physical years, but in experience. The three of us, we're completely different people, Draco."

Draco forced himself to look directly at her, forced himself to voice his one concern. He had to wonder whether it was a concern he had for the sake of himself, his father, or- heaven forbid- her; but he said it anyway.

"But what if he's not? What if, after you wake him up, or bring him out of his shell- whatever you said- he's still that man, underneath?"

"We've already established that neither of you can lay a finger on me in violence," Hermione replied, her voice reasonable, soothing. Clearly there was nothing wrong with her vocal chords. Draco let his eyes roam over that scarred face freely and he only saw hope and the determination to at least see things through.

He finally nodded.

"So, Muggle Lessons for me and Riding Lessons for both of us. This will be different."

At that, Hermione smiled broadly, even if it was a rueful one, and Draco could see, for the first time, how that smile transformed her face. It nearly made her look herself again, almost made him forget the scars were there in the first place…but not entirely.

After a second, he forced his own lips up in a poor replica of that smile. Then he left the room to put on his new blue jeans and collect his father. They had a full day ahead of them, it seemed, and there was not a second to lose.

* * *

In London, at the door outside Ginny's flat, Harry was standing, waiting for her. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and he'd just checked his watch for the fifth time…and he was starting to lose his temper. Had Hermione forgotten he'd said _now_? Had Ginny deliberately gone elsewhere, to avoid him?

And then he smelled it. Cigarette smoke.

Damn it, that was Ginny's brand or he'd eat his robes. He hated that she smoked now. Not to mention everyone else who knew her. Molly was constantly begging Arthur for information on cigarettes, lung cancer, and quitting treatments. Harry wouldn't even let her smoke the few times she came over. The minute she pulled out her pack it was time she said goodbye. Fleur and Bill were the same way, but then again they had children now. Hermione was the only one who seemed to display any sort of tolerance for the filthy habit.

Not that Harry was happy about forcing Ginny to leave once she decided it was time for a smoke, but damn it all, he'd nearly lost her once. He would not stand by quietly and watch her try and kill herself with the damned cancer sticks now. So it was with great pleasure that he walked over the window over looking the front stoop, leaned out and called down the three stories to the redhead standing outside, having a cig.

"Ginny!" he called. "Get the fuck up here!"

She jumped and whipped about, looking for him, before she finally glanced up. Harry frowned when he saw her face- it was pinched and she was clearly scared. He motioned to her.

"Come on, Gin- let's take care of this."

For a brief second, Ginny looked very much like she wanted to take off running down the street or apparate again.

"No," Harry whispered. "Please, Gin."

She must have seen the desperation on his face because she frowned, suddenly, stuck out her tongue, and then put her cigarette out. A second later she disappeared from sight and he heard her on the stairs. He smiled and greeted her when she arrived at the top, but she ignored him and moved past to open the door. Then she swung it inward and gestured.

Harry took a deep breath and headed inside.

There was nothing there. Rather, there were things inside, the things he remembered. But they were all neat and in order, in good repair. From what he could see there didn't seem to be anything the matter on the surface.

But that was what he'd thought the first time he saw Ginny after she'd returned, and it had been a lie. Cautiously he worked his way around the sizable apartment, inspecting everything in sight, double checking his and her work on the wards and other spells. He could hear Ginny behind him, tapping one foot impatiently, or from nerves, but he didn't let it affect him. He did his fucking job. No one could ever accuse him of _not _doing his job, not when it came to the things he cared about the most.

Finally he was done with the main spaces. Ginny had refused to let him in her bedroom. She'd also refused to unlock Blaise's room. At that, Harry crossed his arms again.

"I came here specifically to make sure you were safe. Hermione said-"

"Hermione had no business calling you."

"Just like I had no business sending you an owl about her plans, right?"

Ginny flushed. "It's not the same."

"It's exactly the same, Ginny," Harry replied patiently, if a bit tiredly. He ran a hand through his hair and missed how her eyes followed the motion with sudden wistfulness. "This is what friends do, never mind what my job demands of me. We look out for one another, even when one of us would prefer to be left alone. And we never, ever give up."

Ginny drew a sharp breath at the intense look Harry gave her, the meaning behind his words quite clear. I love you, he was saying. I love you and I won't stop, no matter how many times you push me away.

Ginny looked anywhere but at him. "I willingly took part in RATS," she said, as if she could convince him of why she was no good for him.

"And I helped found it," he returned. She frowned.

"You hate that I smoke."

"I do," he replied. "But if our positions were reversed and you'd nearly lost me, you'd hate to see me killing myself that way, believe me."

Ginny looked at him then, anger on her face.

"I did nearly lose you, Harry Potter," she replied. "I nearly lost you again and again- did you ever stop to think that maybe you've been part of the problem all along?"

Harry stiffened and Ginny could see him fighting that particular horror- the knowledge that her love for him had brought her great joy…but great pain as well.

"I tried to do the right thing, that year," he murmured. "And I thought you-"

"I understood all that! But I knew the same fucking terror everyone else did, that last night at Hogwarts. And then we had that one blissful moment of peace, followed by _hell_ for weeks. Months, Harry! I had one second with you and then everything was gone- how can you expect me to just go back to you after that? There's too much there."

"Ginny, I can't live without you," he replied simply and she gasped and stared at him. He went on. "And whether it takes you eight years or ten or twenty to forgive yourself for something that wasn't your fault, and whether it takes me a lifetime to forgive myself for not being there when you needed me most…I still want this. I still want us. I always will."

She wanted to scoff, to yell, to do anything, but she was frozen by his sudden declaration. The whole confrontation- she hadn't expected any of it. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of emotions- which was clearly a mistake, because seconds later she felt Harry's arms go about her.

She couldn't move at first, she was so shocked- it had been years since he'd held her this close. And he'd always let her go to him, first. He never, ever initiated contact. That thought jarred her from inaction and she opened her eyes, started to push away, to tell him to let go. His arms held on more tightly and she could feel him bending his head, burying his nose in her hair.

"Ginny," he whispered and inhaled deeply. She took a shallow, shuddering breath and with it came his smell- that spicy, earthy scent that had lingered on the shirt she'd found at home that summer he'd gone. She'd kept it beneath her pillow for months. It had kept her sane and alive when everything else told her to despair. And she'd fought, and helped others fight, and then he'd returned at the height of terror, when they'd thought all hope was gone…

She took another, deeper breath and allowed the memories and emotions to wash over her.

"Ginny," he said again, like it was a spell in itself and she felt the years of torment and anger begin to slide off her shoulders, from her mind. Her hands started to come up, to hold him as well and she opened her mouth again, but this time to say his name. To tell him…

There was a loud noise. Something being knocked over. Ginny jerked out of Harry's arms and had her wand out before he even did. The moment was gone.

"Stay back," Harry commanded. Ginny's eyes flicked to his face as he passed and she knew that though the moment was gone, Harry hadn't forgotten it, by any means- that he wouldn't forget it.

But instead of lingering over it, of pushing it in her face, he let it pass and insisted on checking the rest of the apartment. Of finishing what he'd gone there to do with nary a word or reference to what had just transpired.

Ginny didn't know whether to yell at him or let him hold her again. Then again, she didn't know _what _she wanted, anymore. So she stood back in silence and watched as he finally reached Blaise's room and spelled the door open.

The tiny space was a mess- Blaise had clearly thrown a tantrum, finally. He'd heard them talking and because Ginny hadn't lifted her Silencio yet, he'd decided to throw things about instead. From the far wall of the room- which really didn't afford him much distance, but he was trying anyway- Blaise glared out at them. Harry took in the disarray, the angry look upon Zabini's face, and the scared, but defiant look upon Ginny's face.

He immediately cast several highly protective and disarming wards on the other man and for good measure, a few upon Ginny. Finally, he added some more to the apartment itself and then, with one last glance at Zabini, closed the door again.

"The Silencio was a good idea," Harry said, "but I wouldn't do anything else."

"I haven't," Ginny replied with a bitter laugh.

Harry looked at her sharply. "What else is going on?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, really."

"Ginny…"

"I just don't like the way he looks at me. And before you ask me why I signed up for him then, let me mention that he didn't look at me that way before, at Sirius'."

Harry looked back at the closed door and frowned. "Have you checked his file yet? There might be something to explain his behavior there."

"No, I haven't," Ginny said. "To be honest, I'm not sure I care that much. Like I told Hermione, I thought I wanted this. But the reality isn't easy at all. The revenge everyone else is taking from this program isn't something I want to do, when it comes down to it. I can't actually…" She shivered and Harry placed one hand on her shoulder gently.

"I know what you mean, believe me. Eight years ago all we wanted was for things to be over and peace to follow. To forget it all. But the Wizengamot and others in our society…they're keeping the hate alive. And nothing has changed."

Ginny looked up at him. "But you- you're one of the toughest aurors out there. I read the papers. When you find someone you never-"

"You shouldn't believe everything you read in the Daily Prophet," Harry interrupted her. "Remember, they're not the most unbiased news source."

Ginny stared at him a moment, confused, and finally looked away.

"Whatever you say, Harry."

"Hey," he said. "I mean it. If you think you're weak for not being able to do to Zabini what was done to you…don't. Don't ever think that. All it means is that you still have a heart. And I love you for it."

Then he enveloped her in another, briefer hug, and set out the door. Ginny barely waved goodbye before he was gone, the scent of him lingering in the air around her. She didn't move from the spot for nearly half an hour.

* * *

**AN: My, my. What IS the matter with Blaise? **


	13. Don't Wanna Talk

**I don't own Harry Potter or make any money off this fic. Meh.**

**AN: Oo, lucky 13? ;) I hope you enjoy it. And bit by bit the story begins to come out. **

* * *

Hermione made the mistake of trying to talk to Draco as he walked his horse around the circle slowly. It wasn't her fault, exactly. He _had_ ridden before- but he was definitely out of practice and nervous as hell. He'd never gotten into the saddle before without his wand in a thigh strap, or someone nearby who could easily save him before he hit the ground; and suffice it to say the fact that he was now riding a creature three times his size and weight without those safeguards, well, it had him worried. So he was concentrating as hard as possible on keeping the horse curving gently about the circle rather than flying off into the sunset with him hanging on for dear life.

That was why her question, though it was innocent enough, startled him to the point of jerking his head up, throwing his body off center, and sending the horse prancing about nervously, because _he _was so damned nervous.

It took nearly five minutes to convince Draco to stay on the horse and the horse to calm down.

"It's not his fault," Hermione reprimanded Draco. "You're making him nervous."

"I'm making him nervous?" Draco muttered through clenched teeth.

"I have him on a lead, he knows me, he's really a very calm, sweet-natured- Draco, stop fidgeting!"

"I can't help it!" he exclaimed and suddenly grabbed at the pommel, feeling desperately insecure. The horse tossed his head and Draco tried to lean back, realized there was no where to go; and finally, hunched over and gripping the saddle's lip firmly, he shook his head.

"I want off," he said, bit his lip, and stared at his hands. He felt utterly humiliated, but it was better than pissing his pants in front of her.

Hermione eyed him sadly and took a deep breath, then placed a reassuring hand on Jonah's neck. The big, old horse turned his head slightly and finally stopped his twitching. He snorted at her as if to say, who is this ape on my back, and Hermione rolled her eyes. She glanced up at Draco, who looked as if he wanted to cry, and finally nodded.

"Ok. I'll walk him over to the steps for you- unless you want to get off on your own?"

Draco actually seemed to consider it for a minute before shaking his head. With a sigh, Hermione led them back to the steps and then helped Draco awkwardly dismount. She felt bad that he'd given up so soon, but she knew he wasn't used to the activity. Even when he'd still been a spoiled little boy it wasn't as if horse-back riding had been a regular occurrence for him. And she knew that one of the best things to do when working with any form of therapy was to never push the patient. So she helped him off, careful to keep herself still for those few seconds; and offered him an encouraging smile and words. It was harder to hide the shaking of her hands after the steady grip of his hand in hers and the brush of his body along her shoulder, but she managed that too. It was different when she was with the children, even with the teenagers. But Draco, as hurt as she knew he was, was still an adult. There was a big difference between giving a grown man riding therapy and helping a seven year old who'd never spoken.

Still, she had a feeling it would be easier to work with Lucius than Draco. The problem wasn't entirely that Draco was a man, it was also that he was perfectly capable of feeling, of expressing his thoughts, of hurting her in unimaginable ways. Although she knew, logically, that he couldn't do anything because of the spells, it didn't make it any easier to be around him and let down her guard as she had to when running these sessions. But she supposed he deserved a little trust. A very little.

"It wasn't all bad," she said, and he looked up at her as he unhooked his helmet.

"No," he replied slowly and glanced to Jonah. "I just…it's been a long time. I don't know if I'm ready for this, yet."

Not to mention what a mess he felt after riding the huge creature. Its gentle steps had sent little jolts up his spine; the feel of the horse's ribs pushing in and out as it breathed while his legs fell down along its sides… It had nearly been too much the minute he'd gotten in the saddle. How did those children do it? How did they brave something like that, with their multitude of issues? He wasn't in nearly as bad of shape as some of them, not even close, and he'd felt like vomiting the entire time he'd sat up there.

Not because it had been so scary- it had been that, but he probably could have gotten over it if it hadn't been for the feeling of another living creature, under him, reading his emotions, reacting to his commands…that was what had made him so nervous, what had drawn his heart into his throat and made him want to heave or cry.

He meant it when he said he wasn't ready for it. It made him furious with himself to admit that weakness, but he wasn't ready to be in control that way, to be in charge of himself or anyone else. He just wanted to take care of his father. He just wanted to survive. Who needed emotions on top of an order like that?

Glancing at Hermione, he nearly asked her; nearly let her see that side of him- even though she seemed to have already guessed it existed. But instead he watched her quietly for a minute as she smoothed her hands down the horse's neck, over his nose, whispered sweet nothings to him while feeding him a carrot. She was different when she was with them, he'd noticed. He'd seen it first two days ago, at the lessons, but now, to watch her in action with them up close this way, it was obvious to him.

She was just…different. More calm, more peaceful. More in charge of herself. Before he caught himself, he'd said it aloud and she turned to him, eyes wide.

"What was that?"

He shifted uncomfortably, leaned against the fence, hands in his jeans pockets.

"I said you seem different, out here," he repeated and stared at the ground, then up to her again. He forced himself to meet her eyes and wasn't surprised to see that she seemed flustered by the remark. Then her eyes narrowed a second later and she focused on Jonah again.

Draco sighed and glanced over to where his father sat on the grass once again, no doubt getting dirt or mud all along the back of his jeans…he even started to turn away, to exit the riding ring, when Hermione answered him. He was so startled that he tripped and managed to catch himself on the fence again.

"I guess I am a bit different when I'm with them," she said. "But I have to be. You have to let them know who's in control, while respecting them at the same time. It takes more effort than with a dog or cat."

Draco eyed her a moment, then took a few tentative steps back towards the horse. He reached his hand out cautiously and Jonah whuffed at him curiously before nosing his hand for food. Draco gave a rueful smile and then placed his hand on the horse's neck. Hermione moved her own hand immediately and looked extremely interested in the bridle.

"It's not that," Draco said.

"What's not what?" Hermione asked, acting as though she hadn't heard him. He resisted the urge to call her a bitch and stared at the horse before him.

"It isn't just the control. You're in control every day- on the surface, I mean. It isn't giving the orders or the respect that's different. You're more…relaxed, out here. More like…" More like the you I remember from school, when I'd watch you while no one was looking, he thought.

Hermione shrugged, clucked to Jonah some more.

"I may be," she allowed. "But that's also necessary. If I don't have an open mind, am relaxed and calm, then the horses know. And in turn the children know. We all have to work together to make it the best experience possible for those kids. If we don't, or if I decide to stay angry or tense, on my guard during a lesson, then I stand a smaller chance of getting through to them. And that's all that matters."

And she left it there. Don't ask me anything else, her eyes, the set of her shoulders told him. You've used your question quota for the day. Even though he hadn't really asked a question…but he wasn't about to push it. All he knew so far was that she seemed to have zero interest in doing anything other than making sure he and his father got help, were rehabilitated; and that was enough for him just then. At least, he hoped it was. He looked over at her to see she'd left Jonah standing quietly by himself with Draco and was now at his father's side, helping him stand.

"Hey-" he began, but she tossed him one of those looks and he shut up. Then, using the long line of his muscles he pushed forward, off the fence, and walked over to help with his dad. His eyes being on Lucius, he missed the way hers followed his movement.

Hermione told herself she wasn't appreciating Draco Malfoy's lean frame in the slightest. Then she turned her attention wholly to his father.

With each of them taking Lucius by an arm, they guided him up to where Jonah stood, silently rolling his eyes about for another carrot. Hermione made some soft noises to him and then lifted one of Lucius' hands to Jonah's shoulder. Lucius' eyelids flickered some, as if he were processing the new stimuli, the feel of warm hide under his palm and fingers. And then, slowly, he spread his fingers some, moved them minutely along the old horse's powerful shoulder.

Draco held his breath. Hermione smiled as if she'd known all along he would do that. Then she slowly slid her hand along Lucius' arm until she reached his laying there; and lightly covered it with her own. His lids flickered again and the tiniest, most infinitesimal tick crossed his face. It was like a light ripple of emotion that passed so quickly Draco couldn't be certain he'd seen it. But he'd know that particular expression anywhere, he'd wager. His father, proud and uncertain…and annoyed.

But then Hermione was grasping Lucius' hand lightly and murmuring to him about horses; and this horse in particular; and moving his hand along from the shoulder to the neck with the lightest of touches. And his father, in the midst of all this, continued to stare at nothing, except when ripples crossed his features. Draco found it incredibly hard to stand there and do nothing, say nothing.

He managed for three whole minutes.

"That's enough."

Hermione shot him a look, but he didn't back down.

"He's doing fine, he's not agitated-"

"You're not looking then."

"Draco, I won't fight with you about this."

Draco stared at her hard for another minute, then glanced to his father. His face crumpled some, but before Hermione could say a word he'd turned on his heel and was stalking from the ring.

"Draco!" Hermione called after him and beside her, she felt Lucius stiffen in response. She immediately turned to him and saw him staring after his son, eyes bright and focused; the annoyance Draco had seen only in ripples now furrowed his brow.

"Lucius?" Hermione whispered and felt the hand beneath hers move, watched as he slowly turned his eyes from his son to her. His brow smoothed and his eyes lingered over her face, over the scars there. He didn't say a word, just looked at her; and then cast his eyes back up to where Draco had been a moment before. But Draco had already disappeared into the barn and seconds later, though his brow furrowed again, Lucius' eyes went dark.

Hermione grasped his hand more firmly. "Lucius? Damn it, Malfoy, you're in there- you can't deny it. I know you are. And I'm going to drag you back out here whether you like it or not," she whispered, voice suddenly fierce. "If the rest of us- if your own _son_ has to live in this hell, then so do you, by god." Her voice dropped, grew darker. "No one- _no one- _has the right to check out unless he's already dead. You hear me?"

Of course, he didn't respond. She hadn't expected him to. But she knew he'd heard her. Unfortunately, Jonah began to snort and stamp at the tension between them and Hermione had to turn her attention to him. She fed him another carrot, patted his neck, then led him over to the gate and started for the barn. Lucius stood staring after her a moment and she missed the way his hands, now dropped to his sides again, clenched and relaxed. Then he slowly began to follow her, up to the barn and beyond that, the house.

* * *

Around noon, Ginny finally got up the nerve to let Zabini out. She spelled the door open, sending it inward a crack, and called out through the half closed door to him in her best non-confrontational tone of voice.

"I've made some food- lunch," she said. "It's in the kitchen if you want anything." Then she turned and was about to go back to whatever she'd been doing before- clipping Witch Weekly articles? Hell, she didn't know what she was doing with herself. Anyway, she paused at the last minute and turned back.

"Um, look, I'm sorry about yesterday, too. And the day before. I'll- I'll take the spell off for you."

There was no response from inside the room and Ginny waited outside the door a few more seconds before deciding that if Zabini wasn't coming out, then she certainly wasn't going in. If he did come out, then she'd be able to reverse her spell. But if not… It's no skin off my back, she thought, trying to be practical. He is a criminal and he was handed over to me with very few rights allowed him.

She tried to tell herself she didn't feel that bad. That the queasy feeling in her stomach was simply because of Harry's visit. His smell still lingered about her and she'd had a hard time keeping it together immediately after he'd left. It sometimes shocked her how much he still affected her, when they hadn't been together in so long. Just casual hugs at family gatherings, the occasional drunken kiss on the cheek. But never anything more. And her jumpiness around him only seemed to get worse as time wore on, not better. Perhaps because she knew she wasn't really over him, either. That the longer things went the harder it got for her to deny her feelings for him; as the only man she could ever want to be with…

But that was precisely why she had to keep pushing him away. He didn't…he didn't deserve someone like her. She felt too angry and broken to be of any use to a man- and certainly not to Harry Potter. Just thinking of what she really was- a used woman, a heap of massacred feelings tied up inside a pretty package- made her begin to shake and she angrily stubbed out the butt of her latest fag and immediately lit another.

Cigarette in hand, she contemplated the shrimp salad she'd thrown together, took a few bites, and then reached for her scotch.

Which was how she ended up passed out on her chaise lounge, an empty glass and half empty bottle on the floor and a pile of ashes on the nearby end table. About a third of the way through the bottle she'd begun missing the ashtray by several centimeters. Now one hand dangled below the chaise and the other rested against her wrinkled brow as she battled the demons of her mind and memory.

Which was why she didn't see Blaise as he crept from his room and, upon seeing her, sat on the sofa across from her and watched her troubled face.

* * *

A gentle breeze was wending its way through the house, carrying with it the scent of orange and cleanliness. Draco sat back from the desk and stretched before he turned his eyes to the windows. He was seated at a small roll top desk in the living room, the first volume of the encyclopedia before him, a note pad and pen to one side. Hermione had parked him there while she'd gone off to clean the house for the afternoon. And the new lessons? It was just like classes at Hogwarts, Merlin help him, except more excruciating, somehow. Mostly because know-it-all Hermione Granger was his teacher. It wasn't so much that it was boring, either. Who knew that muggles had such an antiquated, yet scientific, view of alchemy, for instance? Or what the hell an aardvark was. Seriously, who knew?

He'd meekly agreed to all her proposals anyway, after his childish tantrum back at the barn. It was humiliating enough to not be able to stay on a damn horse for longer than ten minutes; let alone getting mad at her for coaxing signs of life from his dad. Wasn't that something he'd wanted, had tried for, himself? And yet, when it had come down to it he'd been frightened. But of what? Of his father, or of the hope she was giving him?

Sighing at the way the sun shone brightly beyond the shade of the front porch; at the way the lacy curtains blew gently in and out, as if breathing with the wind; he reached for his pen and bent over the book again. He hadn't been lying to her the other day, after all. He'd meant what he'd said. If he and his father were ever released, they were finished in the Wizarding world. They would have to live as muggles and Draco, especially, would have to know how to conduct himself, would have to learn some sort of trade. He'd be the bread winner, anyway, unless Hermione was right about his dad…

Thoughts drifting, he continued to read and took mindless pages of notes while trying to ignore the fact that everything in the house smelled like her.

* * *

Hermione stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking out at Draco as he sat, contemplating the yard- or maybe nothing at all. His shoulders straight and relaxed, if thin, his long fingers playing with his pen, his hair as it blew about his ears and forehead in the breeze. He looked for a moment like the schoolboy he'd been back at Hogwarts, though far more weary.

Although, if she was right, he was looking a little healthier than he had when she'd taken him on. Of course he is, she thought smugly. He's one of mine now. And I always take good care of my creatures. But seconds later she frowned at herself. As if he was her property, just because the Wizengamot or the ministry had voted on it and signed some papers.

It really is disgusting, what they're doing, she thought. Because no matter what they did, they don't deserve this. Not if the ministry also deems them safe enough to release. All the truly bad ones were either killed or in a maximum security facility. What could possibly have possessed Harry to put forward this program in the first place?

Of course, she knew the answer to that as well. Harry had talked it over with her one night. She'd thought he was crazy then, but she knew his intentions were good. He'd been worried about the number of former dark wizards who were turning up dead in raids, rather than being brought to trial. So he'd suggested setting up some kind of rehabilitation program that the less dangerous wizards could qualify for, in the hopes that if they had somewhere to go, people would stop killing them outright. Well, that much had worked, at first. But then the families assigned various prisoners started to claim accidents had occurred, reports of abuse began showing up…and the ministry had turned a blind eye. That was when Harry had begun cracking down more from his position of Head Auror. Not that she believed the reports in the Prophet. The paper was utter rubbish, really.

Her eyes swept over Draco as he turned back to his work and her frown melted away. She leaned against the doorframe as she took him in- the small ticks of his hand as he scribbled information down. The way his other hand alternately turned pages and rubbed the back of his neck, his forehead, shifted through his hair.

She felt something coiled very tightly in her chest begin to loosen and uncurl, ever so slightly and she shifted her weight, sticking one hip out. Good god, if she wasn't careful she'd start to feel something for him other than pity and where would that get her? No where, that's what. She'd end up by being sucked back into the ministry only to battle them for the rights of these so-called convicts, who were being treated so inhumanly it hurt her soul; despite the fact that she'd insisted to both her friends she didn't care what happened to them.

She cared. She just wasn't sure if she should. With a heavy sigh at her own inconstancy, she whirled about and moved back into the kitchen to finish dusting any knickknacks that were left. Then she could finally take a breather and prop her feet up. The kitchen door shut behind her with a soft thud and Draco jerked his head up at the sound.

Turning about, he saw only a closed door. He sniffed and prepared to turn back when he caught it- more than the orange scented product she'd been using to clean all afternoon. Juniper. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the kitchen door suspiciously. After a long moment of nothing, he sighed again and turned back around.

The wherefores of why he found that smell- her smell- so intoxicating just then could wait. Jane Addams' entry could not.

Bloody women.

* * *

Ginny threw her arms about Harry's neck as he approached her and she felt his arms embrace her as well. Bliss. Total, complete bliss- that's what victory felt like. After that long, horrific year, even with all the death surrounding them now, he'd come back to her. She could live again, some day.

"Hey, Ginny," he said, as he pulled away, "have you seen Ron and Hermione?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. "Can't find them? I'm not too surprised at that, Harry."

Harry blushed, but soldiered on anyway. "Well we need them here. We're about to have a sort of council, figure out what to do. There may still be some stragglers left in the Forest, or elsewhere in the school."

Ginny's face grew serious and she nodded in understanding. "Of course, I'm sorry. Want me to look for them?"

"No, you don't-"

"It's ok, I think I saw them heading out the courtyard earlier. I'm pretty sure they just wanted a little alone time, yeah?"

Harry sighed and smiled. "Yeah. Look, just be careful, like I said. Here, let me get someone to go-"

"I'll be alright, Harry. They're just outside, really. Back in a jiff!" She kissed him solidly and trotted off across the hall to the great doors, Harry staring after her. Then she waved to him and passed through. It was dark outside, but there were torch and wand lights everywhere she looked. Leftover fires and other debris. By the unsteady light she made her way to the edge of the courtyard, calling for Ron and Hermione. Thought she heard giggling. From farther away though, near shrubs and tall trees. Then the giggling turned into a high pitched, soft scream, followed by a thud. Another scream, this time cut off. Ginny darted forward, wand held aloft and managed to hex one of the dark figures she saw struggling with her brother. All her thoughts moved slowly: not another one, not this brother, please, please-

And then she saw Hermione's face, flushed, eyes wide with fear and sudden bravery, saw Ron now unconscious and in the grip of a third man- where had a third one come from? And then she wasn't asking anymore questions because there was a fourth man, it seemed, and he had one hand over her mouth and the other was plucking her wand from her hand and she was biting his hand and kicking and wishing Harry could hear the rapid beating of her terrified, furious heart-

She came awake as soon as she rolled off the chaise and hit the floor. She was gasping for air and was horrified to find that her face was covered in snot and tears and her palms were sweaty. She felt like her clothing was a second skin, the dream had been so real…Merlin, it had been a long time since she'd had one like that.

Then she noticed the pain in her arm and realized she'd rolled onto and smashed her drinking glass. Well, at least it was the remains of alcohol and not some fizzy drink. The wound was already sterilized, that way.

And then she began laughing until she cried some more, all the while with blood dripping down her cut up arm. Perhaps because of her hysteria, or simply because of the dream, when Blaise placed a hand on her shoulder she didn't immediately shrink away or hex his balls off. Instead she just looked at him and began laughing and sobbing anew.

He looked at her with a mix of concern and disgust and she let him wipe at her arm with the damp rag he held before she finally pulled away, still sniffling.

"Stop, stop," she said. "I can…I can take care of this. Just- would you mind moving- thanks." She spoke shortly, but not rudely, and with a flick of her wand in her shaking hands she cleaned up the mess on the floor. Then, cradling her arm against herself, she headed back to her own room and bathroom. She paused at her door and looked back at Blaise, who was staring at the floor, an angry expression on his face and the bloody rag in one hand.

"Um, Zabini" she called and he looked up at her. She controlled a shiver, though she knew she must already look a mess, so what did she care what he thought of her? "Thanks. I'll just, well-" With another flick she reversed the Silencio and then she disappeared into her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. The lock turned a second later.

Zabini stared at her door, open mouthed, then pressed his lips together and looked back at the cloth in his hands. With a sudden, violent motion, he threw it to the floor.

* * *

**AN: Well, well, well. Don't worry, that's not love Zabini is feeling. And Draco? He's just deprived of female company. No sexual healing yet. Harharhar. Har?**


	14. Frequently Kind, Suddenly Cruel

**I don't own Harry Potter, or As Time Goes By, or anything exciting like that. Bother.**

**AN: Wow, 14. I'm on fire, seems like. Here's hoping it lasts. Of course, with Ginger on my side, how can I not be on fire? Rawr. ;) (How's that for a shout out to my muse?) P.S. Some of you are muses in training with your awesome reviews. More shout outs to follow. **

**By the way, I'm not sure if you noticed or not, but as this chapter's title is the most obvious use, I thought I would mention...I've been taking the chapter titles from songs. **

* * *

Draco laughed. He couldn't help himself; after the depressing horrors of the muggle news, all he'd wanted to do was go to bed. Instead, Hermione had switched to something she called a "rerun" of her favorite show. And by Merlin, if it wasn't half bad. He chuckled again as the woman on screen made another snide remark to the posh businessman who (according to Hermione) had been trying to win the heart of said woman for years. What a ponce, he thought, and snickered again. He still wasn't entirely sure if he was laughing because it was so damned funny or if the other laughter that filtered from the screen was setting him off. But either way, he was having a good time despite himself.

Hermione kept throwing him interested glances every time he laughed, or smiled, or snorted with derision at the behavior of the characters. Who knew that Draco Malfoy, sworn muggle hater and blood purist, former Death Eater, for chrissakes, would ever be watching and enjoying a television show? She was nearly tempted to take him to the cinema, next. The small theatre in the nearby village was running some action adventure flick, weren't they? He would probably like that. But she wouldn't want to take Lucius along just yet, so she'd have to find someone to watch him, or lock him in his room…and she found that thought even more horrifying than going on an almost date with Draco.

Seconds later, she snorted at her own fancies. Nonsense, she thought. What I'm doing with Draco and his father is as far from a relationship as what I endured. I'm just helping them. There's nothing date-like about taking Draco to a movie. In fact, it's probably more romantic when I drag Ginny along! She rolled her eyes at herself and then laughed at the show some more, determined to just relax. Lucius had actually already been tucked up in bed, his stomach full of shepherd's pie and warm milk. For Hermione's part, she was enjoying a glass of wine while Draco nursed a mug of cocoa gingerly (she'd only made it moments before and it was still quite hot). Although the weather was getting warmer, the nights still had a bit of a sting to their breezes and she had been secretly delighted to discover his fondness for the chocolaty drink.

With another peal of laughter and a flourish of music, the show finally ended and Hermione sat back, muting the telly, and finished off her glass. She glanced over at Draco and saw he was sipping his cocoa meekly, a strange look upon his face.

"Enjoy it?" she asked and he shot her a glance before nodding.

"It was alright." He tried to look nonchalant, poor dear, and Hermione felt herself grinning. She pressed her lips together and looked away.

"By the way, you never answered me earlier," she began, "during your lesson, I mean."

"What's that?" he asked, trying to remember. He'd been so intent on not falling off that though her question had unnerved him, he couldn't recall what she'd asked.

"I've been meaning to ask, but how are you and your father sleeping?"

Draco snuck a glance at her and turned his attention wholly back to his drink. Chocolate was extremely interesting.

"In separate beds," he remarked lightly.

Hermione turned to him, glared. "That is not what I meant."

He shrugged. "Then what do you mean?"

"Draco-"

"Alright, alright. Lay off. We're sleeping fine. Dad is, at least." He bit his lip and cursed his tongue. He hadn't meant to say that-

"But you're not?" she asked, ending any hope he had that she'd let that one go.

There was a long pause as he debated how best to respond. Did he tell the truth? Did he brush it off? Finally, hearing Hermione shift with impatience, he opened his mouth.

"It's an old house, it makes odd noises," he said. "Right?"

Hermione watched him with narrowed eyes. If he was hearing her in the night, she rather expected him to gloat, to lord it over her, his master, that she had horrific nightmares and woke up crying and vomiting nearly every night. But she didn't feel relieved when that admission didn't come.

"Like what odd noises?" she prodded him and he met her eyes suddenly, a scowl on his face.

He was trying to be nice, damn it! _Kind_, even. Let her have her demons and never know that he heard them every night and stood before her door like a sentry, waiting for signs of life. It was humiliating for them both that he depended on her so much, wasn't it? Humiliating enough that he was here to begin with.

Hermione merely raised her eyebrows in reaction to his scowl and gestured to his mug. "Want some more?"

He shook his head. She sighed.

"Look, Draco, if you don't want to talk, don't worry about it. I shouldn't push you-"

"I have nightmares, too," he said suddenly and her eyes widened. He glanced away, went on. Now that the cat was out of the bag, he may as well move forward. Best to be honest. Right?

"They're awful and I hate them. They leave me sweating and shaking. I can never get back to sleep when I wake up, at least, I didn't used to." He stopped, chanced another look at her. She was turned away, glass still in hand, the other covering her mouth. He suddenly warmed to his topic. It was as if, now that he'd finally begun talking about them, he couldn't stop. "Sometimes I see the things I've done, the mistakes I've made. Sometimes it's Dumbledore, or Snape. Bellatrix…" He shuddered, then went on in a quieter voice, "Or my mother. It took me nearly a day to realize she and Dad were missing. Two more days to find them. By then, the curse that hit Dad had taken its toll. I never did find my mother's body." His body shook again and he nearly dropped his mug. He took another sip, happy to let the heat burn his mouth, distracting him as he hunched over. "The whippings, the torture, the people _I _had to torture…that monster's face. I see them all, on rotation. Like bloody clock work." He ended with a small, nasty laugh and immediately stuck his nose back in the mug, took a longer drink this time. From across the way he heard a small wheezing noise and knew Hermione was crying. He didn't look up. He didn't want to see her shedding tears over his own wretched life; not when hers had probably been ten times worse.

There was a movement from the corner of his eye and he finally looked back over. She was staring straight ahead of herself, face solemn, eyelashes damp. She gave a small sigh. But whatever he'd expected her to say, she surprised him again.

"They found your mother's remains…it was in the paper, months after…" She shook her head. "She'd been buried somewhere on your property. She must have died the same night your father took that curse."

Draco stared at her. "So then-" He stopped, took a deep breath. Didn't know if he should feel relieved or not. "I knew they said they'd found her. But neither I or my father were asked to identify the remains. Not that we could. We were already on the run at that point."

"Not from the ministry-"

"Don't stick up for those bastards!" he said angrily. "We were on the run from everyone. They thought Dad had killed Mum, done away with her- I read the papers, too, kept up with the news. Then there was the matter of the missed trial. If it wasn't the ministry chasing us down, trying to make us keep our trial date, then it was other former Death Eaters, trying to kill us so we couldn't testify against them! It was Hell, Hermione Granger. And yes, maybe I should've turned Dad and myself in, but those last months of freedom were all we had. I was certain we would die. More certain than I'd been about it with Voldemort."

"But you acted foolishly anyway," she snapped, finally reaching her boiling point. "Harry would have stumped for you. He wanted peace again, was sick of the fighting and death. Ironic, isn't it, that Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding world, that his own word only carried so far? Turns out they only wanted to use him as long as it was convenient for their purpose. So when you stayed hidden he couldn't protect you any longer. Not even after what your mother did for him. You wasted that bloody chance all by yourself, Draco Malfoy."

"You think I don't know that?" he shouted hoarsely, hands shaking. "You think I don't fucking know that?" And then he was crying and spilled the cocoa all over his hands, burning himself, and staining his pants, and still he couldn't stop. Could never stop blaming himself. His whole life had been nothing but the wrong set of choices and he'd pay for it until he died.

After a few humiliating seconds of that spectacle, he heard a soft swear, felt a hand on his shoulder. The hand disappeared and a minute later Hermione was taking the mug from his hands, wiping it, setting it aside; then taking his hands and wiping them with a cool rag, holding his wrists gently.

"Stop that, now," she shushed him with a calm voice. "Stop. It's not ok, but it's over. Hush." She stood and tugged on his arms, forcing him to stand. To his horror he was still crying, couldn't seem to stop, though the shaking had grown better. She continued talking to him in that quiet, practical voice. The know-it-all with a dash of kindness.

It was nice. It reminded him of his mother. Or of Pansy.

He kept crying, though he clenched his teeth and tried to quell the furious, hollow beating of his heart.

Hermione walked him up the stairs slowly, one arm willingly about his shoulders, the other cradling his hands up against his chest. She maneuvered him to the bathroom and sat him on the toilet. Fetched his pajamas for him, made him get undressed. He blanched and tried to protest, but she insisted. Some of the cocoa had landed in his lap, she said. He reluctantly pulled the pants off. But nothing happened, of course, because he was still acting like a mess and she clearly didn't care about his scrawny legs or some of the scars she saw there.

Just like she didn't care that the bathroom smelled wonderful from his aftershave and shower gel.

Instead, she focused on filling the tub part way with cool water, made him get in, underwear and all. He sat with his hands submerged and knees drawn up as she used a rag to rinse the water along his legs, where the skin was pinkest from the hot liquid. Then she tenderly wiped his face and made him stand again. She helped him dry off, daubed salve on his legs, then bundled him into his pajamas, and applied the same salve to his hands. He'd stopped crying.

"Your legs should be fine," she murmured as she attended to his hands and he felt himself nod.

"Thank-"

"Don't," she interrupted. "You're in my care. I won't be one of those awful witches that lets you injure yourself and does nothing to help. This is my job, right now."

He shuddered, but didn't speak again. Then he was up and headed for his room and Hermione was standing in the doorway, his stained clothing in her arms, watching as he crawled under the covers. Her eyes didn't waver in their focus and he felt naked and exposed. But it wasn't an entirely bad feeling. It was only as she turned out the light and started to close the door that he realized she'd never said a word about her own nightmares, or asked what he thought of them.

He started to call her name, but she turned at the last minute and beat him to it.

"Draco," she said seriously, voice soft, "if you hear anything again tonight, I want you to stay where you are, in bed. Try and sleep."

And then she left, shutting the door behind her.

He lay back and closed his eyes. But he didn't sleep.

* * *

Harry glanced over the copy of Blaise's file once more and then tied it to the ministry owl's leg and sent it off to find Ginny. There was nothing in there that looked very serious, aside from the fact that Blaise was a complete coward. The investigation of his mother had turned up the funds she'd been siphoning off to Voldemort's followers during the war, but even then his mother had denied her son's involvement. That had left only the testimony of bitter Death Eaters to sentence him. Zabini had denied all the charges, but with so many turned against him, even with their conflicting stories the Wizengamot had declared him guilty by association.

Harry hadn't liked the outcome of that one a bit. It had been a sham, just like so many other trials. But with Zabini shouting abuse at his captors and judges once sentence had been passed, it had seemed like the right decision to many, and there was nothing Harry could do. It was at that point that he'd decided it was time to do something about the injustices. And so RATS had been born…and what a brilliant idea that turned out to be, he thought angrily. Now one of the very men whose very guilt had been questionable at the beginning was forced to live with a witch that didn't want him; and because of the wrong that had been done that once innocent wizard had likely turned dark, if Hermione was right about his behavior to Ginny.

Harry frowned and then reached for his phone. He needed to talk to someone about this.

* * *

Back at the house, Hermione's phone sounded shrill in the sudden stillness following Draco's episode. Hermione hurried to it and snatched it up, sounding quite breathless when she said, "Hello?"

"You alright?" Harry asked and Hermione paused, thinking how to answer that.

"Er," she said.

"Hermione, is something going on? You sound out of breath. Been riding?"

"Heavens no, Harry, it's nearly ten."

"Is it? Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry. I hadn't noticed-"

"Harry, did you take your work home with you again?" Hermione asked, perching on the back of the sofa.

He laughed and Hermione felt her heart warm and head back to its normal pace.

"You know me so well."

"That I do," she replied matter-of-factly. "Now, what is it?"

"I sent a copy of Zabini's file to Ginny, thought it might help her figure him out some. But I'm worried, honestly."

"Why? How did things go this morning?"

"Not terribly," Harry replied. "But she wouldn't tell me exactly what was going, either."

"And you didn't push her for answers, either."

"Do you want me to?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant. Look, Harry, I can't speak for Ginny. All I know is that he bruised her wrist when they got into some kind of altercation. Ginny probably started it, to be fair. But she didn't want to really talk about it with me, either."

She heard Harry sigh.

"I was worried this might happen," he finally said and he sounded so weary Hermione had to actually sit down.

"Oh, Harry. What do you mean?"

"His file, it's not bad, really. You know I never thought he was either for us or against us. But in this situation even the most innocent of wizards can go…" His voice trailed off as he searched for the right words and Hermione sighed as well.

"I understand what you're saying. Well, what can Ginny do, in that case? Return him? I already told her to take it easy, to avoid confrontations and try the sugared approach, but even that could backfire."

"Honestly, Hermione? I don't want him anywhere near her. There's something not quite right about him anymore. Even today I could see he's like a caged animal. I know that feeling. I had it half my life, when I was with my aunt and uncle. But with a man like Blaise, in this situation, I don't think he'll rise above it."

"Ginny's as liable to quit at this point as I am, though," Hermione said softly.

"I know," Harry said. "Look, I'm sending you a copy of his file as well, via regular post. Tell me what you think when you've got a chance, yeah? Ginny should be alright for now. I doubled all the spells and threw some extra ones on top to be certain."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said. "I appreciate your calling."

"Not a problem," he replied. "And you? How are you getting on?"

"Surprisingly…well. I don't think we'll ever be bosom friends, but we understand each other. I'm giving them both therapy."

"Both of them?"

"Yes, Draco had his lesson this morning and then I had Lucius spend a few minutes with the horse-"

"Merlin, Hermione, are you sure that's a good idea?"

Hermione felt herself bristling some and she frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Hermione, I didn't mean-"

"Isn't that what this program is for?" she interrupted him. "Wasn't that your intention? To help both parties, to rehabilitate the victims by promoting understanding and compassion? Or did I read that article in the Prophet wrong?"

"Bloody hell, Hermione."

"Don't you bloody hell me, Harry Potter. After all that we've been through, I thought you had a little more faith-"

"Oh for god's sake, Hermione! I have more faith in you than in Ginny at this point and I'm bloody in love with her! Stop overreacting," he grumbled.

"Well stop being an overgrown prick and maybe I will," she retorted.

Seconds later the awkward silence was broken by genuine laughter from both of them.

"You haven't talked to me that way since before the war, Hermione," Harry murmured once they'd calmed down.

"I blame the Malfoys," she replied evenly and Harry snorted again.

"That's easy enough to do. Look, call me once you've gotten the file- should be in a couple days. And let's have dinner soon, or something. I miss you."

"Of course you do," Hermione said smartly. "I'm the only person you know who's happy to make you muggle food."

"Hey, Molly makes it for me too-"

"Oh, excuse me. Let me rephrase that: I'm the only person you know who makes it well."

Sputtering with laughter, Harry made his goodbyes and Hermione hung up the phone, a small smile still on her face. Now, she thought. Now I can sleep. And she turned out the remaining lights, checked the doors, and then walked into her bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her.

* * *

**AN: Slow, slow, slow. But good, I hope. I'm just trying to encourage your cleverness to speculate and jump to conclusions. ;) If you have theories, PM me! I'd love to hear them so I can chortle over how wrong you are. Or faint from the fact that some of you are digging about in my brain. Either way.**


	15. Don't Be Afraid

**I don't own Harry Potter, ok? Ok!**

**AN: Whew! This has got to be some kind of fanfic writing record for me. More still to come, though we might slow down the updates a bit. I hope the backstory is really starting to shape up for some of you. Your precious minds ought to be whirring with curiosity and guesswork by now, most definitely. If they aren't, I'm not doing my job. Kisses!**

**Shout out to manicMAundae, who has followed several of my other stories and never fails to provide interesting reviews and conversation. A bit of a softie, aren't you, babe? But it's alright- the world needs good hearts like yours. **

* * *

"Ron, you didn't-"

"Shh, Hermione, it's just a little extra I nipped from the kitchens while no one was looking. Here, it's a toast," Ron said as he handed Hermione a small glass after pouring a generous finger of fire whisky.

Hermione took it gingerly, but smiled up at him anyway. "And what exactly are we toasting?" she asked, smacking his arm when he took another swig of the stuff.

"The end of the war. The start of new things," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave and doing that velvety thing it did when he wanted something from her. "You." He waggled his brows and slid an arm about her waist. "Me."

Hermione gasped, stifled her grin, and then clinked her glass with his bottle. Down her throat the burning liquid went, but it wasn't unpleasant. Not when he was holding her that way while it burned its way through her stomach and hit her insides but good.

"Oh, Ron," she breathed and then his mouth was on hers and they were both smiling and laughing softly as he tried to take her robes off and she tried to keep his hands at her waist. It was the happiest memory she had left of him.

Which was of course why seconds later those evil masks filled her vision and she was stunned and couldn't see anything but darkness and Ginny's scared face next to her own.

"Ron!" she cried out. "Ron! Ron!" She yelled until her voice was hoarse, until he answered her.

But it wasn't him. Not really. And then the real nightmare began.

She shook in her bed, making small, jerky movements that were mirrored in her face; in how the sweat began to gather on her brow and she bit her lips until she nearly drew blood; to keep from crying out against the torture inflicted upon her in her dreams. But it never helped- she called out anyway, voice hoarse and frightened; and when she thought she could endure not another second, she came awake with a start as the bile crept up her throat.

She raced for the bathroom, stumbling over her own feet, certain she could see their faces, their posturing in every shadow, in every corner. They haunted her when she was asleep and when she was awake and there was no escaping them, ever.

Hermione emptied her stomach seconds later and then sat on the cool tile, wearily holding her head up with one hand; and her hair back with the other, leaning on the toilet seat as if it was her only friend. She heaved a great, unsteady sigh and then vomited again. Finally, her vision stopped swimming enough for her to reach for her pills. She was just shaking a few out into her palm when something stopped her.

A sixth sense, perhaps? Or just her extremely sensitive hearing? Paranoia was what her therapist called it. Ginny's showed up in the faces of everyone around her. For Hermione, she heard things. All the time, depending on how bad a day she was having, how terrible her nightmares were. It had gotten much better, of course. She was much better at discerning what was real and what was just her psychoses. PTSD, her therapist said, could manifest symptoms for years. Well, it certainly had for her, but she was managing it better, wasn't she?

Except on nights like tonight, of course. When the shadows crept along every wall, ready to carry her back to that hellish time. When she knew she wouldn't sleep again.

She froze as she heard it again- just a whisper of air, a soft shuffling. The sound of someone trying to be very, very quiet.

Or very, very stupid. She turned about from her place on the floor and stared through the bathroom and dimly lit bedroom to her door. It was still closed, locked. All precautions taken. Without actually having a wand in her hands she was as safe as magic and the human mind could make her. But she was still terrified.

The whispering sound came again and she moved suddenly, but instead of shutting the bathroom door, locking herself inside that safe chamber, she crawled out and into her bedroom. Used the doorframe to stand and then stayed there for another long moment, eyes glued to her bedroom door, ears pricked to all sounds now. Then she slowly moved across the space, her logical mind arguing with the half still buried in her nightmares. It could only be one of two people, or even both those people, but neither could hurt her. She was safe. She was in charge, even if she wasn't in control.

Or was it the other way around? One hand slid around her middle, the other traveled up her neck to her face, to her scars. She fingered the soft ridges along her brow, her temple, her cheek, just puckering at the corner of her mouth…control was an illusion. Being in charge wasn't real. All she had was the here and now and even if it was damned terrifying, it was real and she was alive. No one gets to check out, she thought, reminding herself of her words to Lucius earlier in the day. She frowned and her hand fell from her face to her side.

The sound came again, followed by a soft sigh. She nearly froze again, then forced herself to move forward the last few steps. The only Death Eaters in my home right now are damaged and wandless, she told herself fervently. And this is probably my biggest breakthrough yet. Actually daring to open my door in the face of an unknown noise? My therapist would be so proud.

But her palm was slick with sweat when she went to turn the doorknob and her heart was pounding high in her throat.

* * *

Draco hadn't been expecting the door to fly open, for Hermione to see him standing there, just as he was turning back from the stairs to her door again, hand partly lifted as though he was actually considering knocking. And the look she gave him…he felt like a six year old boy again; on Christmas morning as he raced to his parents' room and burst in on their last precious moments of sleep.

But of course, Hermione hadn't been sleeping, so she wasn't about to make him feel guilty for waking her up, or some rubbish like that. He didn't say a word, too worried about her response to his blatant disregard for her orders earlier. He returned her stare as long as he could and then looked away.

"The hell, Malfoy," she said, her voice hoarse. He looked back up and saw she'd squeezed her eyes shut. They snapped open again as if she could feel him looking at her.

He opened his mouth and tried to speak, he did. But what was he supposed to say? Whoops, you caught me loitering about your door like a puppy worried about his owner. Sorry about that, I'll just lock myself in the laundry room again, shall I? And as for her…she was staring him down like he wasn't even a proper puppy, but just a stray. He opened his mouth again and she scoffed noisily, cutting him off, and started to close the door.

He surprised himself, really. But he _shocked_ her.

His hand shot out and he caught the door with it, held it open. She pushed a little harder. He didn't budge.

"The _hell_!" she exclaimed, then flung the door open wide and he stumbled some, caught himself on the doorframe. "What in god's bloody name was that, Malfoy?" she hissed, and if there was extra vitriol in her voice, she wasn't surprised. There was adrenaline racing through her system in addition to the leftover effects of the nightmare and she was fucking pissed off at his behavior.

"I-"

"You should be upstairs, in bed," she interrupted. "If you even try to say for one second that you came down here because I woke you up-"

"You didn't!" he hastened to explain. "I wasn't sleeping!"

She stared at him with a look that plainly read, you fucking idiot, how is that any better?

"I just- I can't sleep," he protested and if he sounded like he was begging, that's probably because he was. "Please, it's not- I just couldn't sleep. I tried and I couldn't and so when I heard you I…" He shrugged helplessly and looked at her, his face wary, body language penitent and cautious.

Her heart retreated some, back towards its normal spot in her chest, and she sighed. Her hand crept back up to her face, rubbed the scars there almost thoughtfully. She looked back at Draco and saw he was watching her, a curious expression on his face.

"What?" she asked.

He started to shake his head, to turn away and she practically growled.

"What is it, Malfoy?"

He turned back. "What happened to you, Granger-" He took a deep breath, stepped towards her. "Hermione. What really happened?"

Her hand stopped moving and her heart began pounding frantically once more. She opened her mouth to retort that it wasn't his business, that she didn't have to answer his questions. To tell him to fuck off. Instead, she surprised herself for the third time that night.

"Ron," she began, but stopped, tried again. "Ginny and I-" She stopped again as she felt bile rushing up her throat. "Oh god-" she managed to gasp out before she turned and raced for her bathroom.

Draco hesitated at her door, watching through the dim light as she hunched over her toilet and heaved her innards into the porcelain. What business is it of mine to help her, to go to her, he argued with himself even as he felt his feet moving. She hates me, even if she is trying to help me. She doesn't want my help in return, he told himself, but it was too late and his traitorous feet had carried him through her bedroom and to the bathroom door. He was about to step inside, to ask if he could help, to hold her hair back or hand her a washcloth, when she lifted her head and spoke.

"Take another step and I'll fucking murder you," she bit out before vomiting again.

He gave a shaky laugh. "You're in no position to murder anyone," he told her snarkily and, to his surprise, he heard her laugh softly in response.

"Maybe not, but I can give you stall mucking duty for a month," she retorted. He stayed where he was, but he also didn't turn to go.

"Can I-"

"You can help by getting the fuck out of my room," she said. She lifted her head, turned to look at him from her vulnerable position on the floor. Except she didn't look particularly vulnerable when she was glaring at him that way. "I mean it, Draco. Go back upstairs, get some rest."

He tried to look nonchalant. "I already told you, I can't sleep."

She turned back to the toilet, breathed in and out slowly.

"Is it your hands? Are the burns bothering-"

"It's not that," he said, uncomfortable. "I just can't sleep. I tried, I did. But it's no use. Not tonight." He shrugged, looked away from her huddled figure. Even the way she was now, she still managed to make him feel like he was the pathetic one. Or maybe that was his own neurosis. "It's one of those nights," he finally added in a softer voice.

Hermione stiffened, lifted her head again. Her eyes strayed to the bottle of pills on the floor beside her. She could take a few now and be asleep in two more hours.

Or she could suck it up, admit she was addicted to them, and try the old warm tea routine. It would be better for her stomach, anyway.

She turned about, managed to stand and tottered over to the sink where she splashed some cold water on her face. She looked up at her image, moonlit in the mirror. Half her face was dark shadow. But it was still her. She looked at Draco's shadowy reflection and sighed.

"I know what you mean," she finally whispered in reply. Then she turned to him and pointed out the door. "Go on out to the kitchen. I'll be there in a minute."

Draco watched her for a long second while Hermione held her breath. And he turned and went without another word.

* * *

Ginny woke up to a dark bedroom and an empty stomach. Someone was knocking softly on her door while someone else was tapping at her window. She answered the owl first, but she didn't read the letter. It was from Harry- she knew it had to be Blaise's file and that could definitely wait. If the knocking on her door was who she knew it must be, he couldn't wait.

"Zabini," she murmured as she opened her door a crack.

"I know it's really late," he said uncomfortably, "but you didn't come out for hours. I was…anyway, I noticed when I saw you didn't touch the food I made for dinner."

He sounded almost civil, which distracted Ginny from what he'd said at first.

"I- wait, you made dinner?"

He didn't say a word, just scowled and looked away. She sighed.

"I'll be out in a minute." Then she closed the door, got changed. She'd managed to take a shower earlier in her awful state, so she felt clean, at least. And her arm was all healed, so she'd managed some decent wandwork. That was good. After a few minutes she made her way from her room and to the kitchen, where she saw Zabini sitting at the small bar. He gestured to the stove.

"Soup in a pan. Cold sandwiches. I'm not…I don't cook a lot," he finished sarcastically. She gave him a curious glance and then wandered to the stove. She poured some of the broth into a mug and took a cautious sip. The spells prevented him from doing anything to it, aside from making it taste awful, but it was fine. Still warm, even.

"Thank you," she murmured and continued to sip at it. She glanced at the clock and noted it was well past midnight.

"What are you doing still up?" she asked.

He didn't answer, just shrugged.

"Worried about a blood traitor like me?" she asked, a wry expression on her face.

He glared at her, but didn't offer a comeback. She shrugged and continued to drink. If he didn't want to talk, that was fine. And if her episode earlier could convince him to stop being an arrogant wanker, more the better. Not that she was happy he'd seen that side of her, but she'd rather have him respecting her this way than be back at where they'd been.

Still, she wondered. Why would he suddenly care, unless he felt guilty? And why would he feel guilty unless he cared? She shook her head, unable to worry it out.

"You should go to bed," she said. "I've got all this." She gestured behind her at the dishes. He stayed where he was for a moment, then finally slid from the chair and walked to the door.

He paused there and, not turning around, said, "I don't like this and I don't want to be here. You're the last person I'd ever want checking me out of that hellish home. But I'll try not to give you more trouble than it's worth. I hate owing you this much, so I'll do my bloody best to make sure I never owe you anything else."

Ginny gaped at him for a split second before her brows drew down in anger. What the hell was he talking about?

"It's the wizarding world you owe something to and not me, Zabini," she said and found it incredibly hard not to sneer at the same time. He made her so fucking angry-

"You think that, do you?" he retorted and turned to look at her. His eyes flicked over her twice, three times and she flushed. His expression fell into one of confusion and finally, wariness. "You do think that. I-" He stopped short and then shoved from the kitchen, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

Ginny let him go, stunned into silence as she was. What the fuck. Shaking her own head, she took another sip of soup, her face thoughtful. Then she took up a sandwich, held it between her teeth; spelled the food away and the kitchen clean; and made her way to her bedroom and the file there.

It was definitely time she read up on her prisoner.

* * *

**AN: ilenoir, thanks so much for the great compliment. For the rest of you not watching my reviews page obsessively, ilenoir compared my Lucius to Dylan Thomas' "Do not go gentle into that good night." Poetry references for the win! Poor Draco, poor Lucius. So misunderstood. XD**


	16. In the Morning

**I don't own Harry Potter at all and make no money here, off this fiction. Blergh.**

**AN: Ok, so it's another chapter. Some of the facts are solidified, and others remain hazy. I've given you clues in previous chapters, and I'll bring out the rest of the story soon-ish, but I trust that your reasoning skills work just fine. As in The Better Claim, I will not give complete details for some of the actual torture they endured- I prefer you to use your imagination, in some cases. Hmm...I hope this author's note makes sense. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

It was a sound that woke her up, but it didn't frighten her; not like she'd been frightened the night before. Instead, it was the signal of life and the dawn and it was carried in to her on the light, early morning breeze.

Hermione turned her head and listened as the birds continued to chirp gently to one another. She felt lazy, relaxed. Like she'd run a marathon the day before and a good night's sleep had been her reward. The sun was just turning the Eastern edges of the sky grey and lavender and she felt at peace for the first morning in a long time. And yet she hadn't spent the remainder of the night in bed, no. She'd spent it in one of her armchairs; her legs curled up beneath her and an afghan about her shoulders; her head propped back against an extra pillow.

Now she could easily tilt her head and look out her front windows to her yard; could see the countryside awakening- a bird hopping across the grass there, a beetle flying lazily against a window screen here. She heaved a sigh and closed her eyes again. She also didn't have to glance about the living room to know that there was a half-empty cup of tea on the end table beside her; and that Draco Malfoy lay in the armchair across from hers, legs curled up in a similar fashion and face as peaceful as she felt inside. Her mind drifted over the events of the night: how she'd awoken and been sick, then found him outside her door. How he'd insisted he couldn't sleep; how she'd suggested tea and proceeded to force copious amounts of an herbal brew upon them both.

How Draco had seemed almost glad to have her sitting beside him, quietly drinking tea and sharing her misery. How she'd definitely been glad of his company- even if he was the last man she'd ever expected to be sitting with, half naked in her kitchen at one in the morning.

How he hadn't said a word about the scars along her shoulders…or her forearms. How he'd been content to not ask any more questions, even when she'd only told him half the story.

How she'd willingly told him the story at all. My therapist will be so pleased, she thought again, a wry expression on her face. All about those hours after the final battle, and that last, sweet second of peace before rogue Death Eaters had captured herself, Ginny and Ron. That they'd been prisoners for five, nearly six, long months. And even when she'd gotten to the part about the torture- not that she'd told him everything, he'd kept that precious mouth shut and drunk more tea and let her cry without comment. It was almost like a therapy session, itself.

She didn't know, of course, that he'd thought he was simply returning the favor. After all, only hours before she had done the same for him. And he owed her far more than a simple listening session. He owed her his life and his father's life. He knew now that she only wanted to help them, even if it was just so she could get them off her property and never deal with them again. She treated his father like a man and himself like…well, if not an equal, she didn't abuse or misuse him, not really. He was more like hired help than a slave. Like one of the family…not that he would ever let her know he felt that way, even if it was only a teensy, tiny bit.

Of course, how could she know that he merely wanted family back; wanted to belong to a close knit, loving community like he'd once had, more than anything else. That it was his best wish, after getting his father back, and that to have her treating him the way she did now stirred up feelings he sometimes wished didn't exist anymore. Since finding a resolution to them was a pure impossibility.

Hermione tilted her head again, swiveled back to glance at Draco briefly. Yes, last night had been interesting. A night for firsts. The first time she'd willingly shared details of her horrific days with someone not Harry or Ginny. The first time she'd admitted that she needed pills to survive. The first time she'd said no to those pills. The first time she'd slept outside her safe haven of a bedroom and gotten through the rest of a night in peaceful slumber, instead of the half restless dreams that would normally plague her.

Maybe that meant she was mending. Or maybe it meant her body was just tired of the status quo. Sometimes change has to happen; sometimes nature forces it upon us, she thought. And then another first occurred.

With the sound of a bluebird's song floating to her ears, her eyes fluttered closed, still heavy with sleep, and she drifted off again to a dreamless, restful slumber.

* * *

Lucius' eyes opened slowly on their own, as eyes will do when one has been dreaming and is just waking. As if they must test the surrounding stimuli to differentiate what is dream and what is reality.

It was the worst part of his day, every day. The moment when he woke up and knew consciousness for a brief minute, when everything was real and fresh to him as it had been eight years ago. When the second he'd seen his wife cut down by the killing curse coincided with the moment a cruciatus had hit himself, so that he couldn't reach her, couldn't take her in his arms and say his farewells. When he realized he'd brought all that suffering upon his family, all by himself.

When he knew and yearned for death.

Death never came, of course, and so he retreated into this half life, this shell, and huddled there, waiting for something to release him. Anything, as long as it was not this existence of bitter knowledge and recriminations.

A bird tweeted outside his window and his eyes narrowed in annoyance. That was not the release he was looking for. A short life, singing joyfully about worms and nests and other birds- he rolled over in his bed, closed his eyes, and tried to dive back into that place. Shut his eyes and ears to the dawning day.

It didn't work. Not like it had every other day the last eight years. Not even the pain he felt still coursing through his muscles from that damned untreated curse helped him slip back into oblivion. He rolled back onto his back, flung an arm over his eyes to block the daylight. A breeze tripped through an open window, lifting loose strands of his hair and teasing them across his skin.

His hair. That smell.

That _witch_. What had she said to him? He rifled through his foggy memories and finally pulled that one from the day before. When Draco's need- no, when her response to Draco's need- had dragged a response from him as well. What had she told him, after?

Ah.

That no one was allowed to check out, as she'd so quaintly put it. That if his son was trapped here, in this hell with herself, then he had damn well better show up, too. But he'd already shown up, didn't she realize that? The last twenty plus years of his life had been hell- trying to raise a family while keeping commitments he'd made to a madman in the folly of his youth. And then in trying to make up for it he'd lost everything.

Didn't she know that? Didn't she realize that if he hadn't stepped into that hell eight years ago she would still be in hers? Or had the sacrifice been in vain? Of course, he knew somewhere in his mind that it must have been in vain; otherwise his son wouldn't be so frightened all the time and they would be left to die in peace, the way they both desired.

Outside the window, more birds sang and their pleasure mocked him. He rolled over again and shut his eyes tight. But it took a great effort this time to deaden himself to the world awaiting him.

* * *

People were waking up in London, too. Zabini could hear them moving about in the other flats; could smell food as shops about began their morning baking and the other tenants in the building fried kippers. Could hear the sound of muggle vehicles screeching down a half empty street outside. Maybe a bird or two bravely tried to sing over the coming din, but it didn't make a difference to his mood. He was angry and confused and probably would continue to be that way until he finally left Ginerva Weasley's care. Not that he was really in her care. She seemed to be more in his care, judging by what happened the day before.

But he'd be very careful not to mention that again. He didn't have any desire to form a connection with her, or arrive at an understanding, or any such rubbish. He just wanted to serve his time and leave or die trying. But mostly he wanted to leave…and he would find a way to achieve his ends, one way or another. He would not stay here, under any circumstances, no sir. Not even if he did feel guilt over what he'd done. The Wizengamot didn't know about that and they'd never know, as long as he could be released soon enough. Because he knew if he stayed much longer, something else would happen that'd make him slip like he had last night; Ginny would realize what was going on- she wasn't brain damaged, after all. And then he'd be back at the beginning.

He would not go down for something that was not his fault. He refused.

He _refused._

* * *

Draco came awake slowly, blinking softly in the face of the daylight coming through the windows; the sun gleaming happily just over the horizon. He stifled a yawn, began to stretch his stiff legs, and realized where he was.

The gentle motion of stretching leisurely was arrested and his senses snapped to life. Oh, shit. He was in Hermione's living room, he'd come downstairs last night and fallen asleep down here. She was going to kill- There was a soft sigh from across the room and he looked over to see Hermione, herself resting in the other armchair, her face peaceful.

Exhaling slowly, he eased back into the chair. That's right, he reminded himself. I came downstairs and she found me. And then we drank tea until we fell asleep. The thought made a rueful smile ghost across his lips and he looked over at Hermione again. Hair tangled about her head, mouth slightly puckered from sleep and dreams, face as eased as he'd seen it yet. He thought back to what she'd told him while he'd nodded sleepily over his tea.

She and Ron Weasley were taken by surprise by Death Eaters hours after the final battle at Hogwarts. Ginny came upon the scene and was kidnapped as well. That much he remembered, when he bothered to dig through his shattered mind. Most of what he remembered after that battle though, was sitting with his parents, wondering what was going to happen. Being taken into custody by the aurors, being sent back to the Manor. And after that they tried to keep to themselves. But he could recall that seconds after being processed and dropped back home, the aurors had been called away suddenly and there had been a report in the paper and on the wireless, begging for people with information on Hermione Granger and Ginny and Ron Weasley to come forward. But what had happened in those intervening months before they'd arrived at the Ministry one day; no one knew except the victims and the council. And no one was certainly telling, though the papers had made up story after story and there had been an incredible amount of speculation.

Draco and his father, though…well, neither had cared for various reasons. His father because he was dead to the world and Draco because he was so busy taking care of his father. Now that he knew some of it though, he wasn't sure what he felt. Guilt for which side he'd started out on? Anger at the people responsible, anger at himself? Why, though? He couldn't have done anything about the torture she'd likely endured week after week. They'd never been friends, never even liked one another, though he'd certainly had a grudging respect for her in their later years. Yet knowing what she'd been through and knowing he'd once believed those doing such things were right…it made his insides flip over, made it hard to breathe.

I deserve to be here, he thought. I deserve so much worse than being here. And the least I can do for her is behave myself, show her the respect and compassion I should have shown her all those years ago. The same things I should have shown all people, no matter what their background. He felt his insides ease somewhat and he looked at her again. She was still asleep and the clock on the wall read seven-thirty. She was going to miss her morning chores.

Then a small smile stole across his face. "No," he murmured to himself, "she won't."

As quietly as possible, he got up and folded the blanket she'd draped over him. Then he left the room and crept up the stairs to change and get started on chores she should be making him take care of, anyway. Hermione Granger can sleep in for once, he told himself. She deserves a peaceful rest far more than I ever will.

* * *

**AN: By the way, I'm getting yet more interesting theories, especially concerning Blaise. Muahahaha! Keep guessing!**


	17. An Unwanted Stranger

**I don't own Harry Potter. Bleeeh.**

**AN: More story? More story. **

* * *

To say that Hermione was disgruntled when she woke up to find Draco gone was far from the truth. She was terrified, to begin with. She spent a full minute trying to remember if he'd been there when she'd woken earlier, and if she'd said anything to him then or not. Once she'd established that was not the case, she immediately got up and wandered all through the house, looking for him and occasionally calling his name. She still didn't panic, though, not until she also couldn't find Lucius. That was when the fear really hit her system.

Calm down, she told herself as she stood in the middle of the hallway, one hand on the wall for support while she caught her breath. It's no big deal. They're just out on the farm somewhere; they can't leave because of the spells, they can't hurt themselves or anyone else; they have to come back here once they get hungry or thirsty… After a couple minutes she managed to get her racing heart under control and stumbled out onto the back porch and down the steps, into the bright sunlight. She drew her sweater closer about her chest; she hadn't changed, had just thrown on a house sweater; and her pajama shorts and camisole now made her feel very exposed. She felt grass prickling her feet and looked down to realize she'd even forgotten shoes in her haste.

She swore and then scanned the yard and the direction of the barn. She didn't see anything right away, but a sound from behind caught her ear. She whirled to see Lucius sitting on the bench he'd occupied the other day; a discontented murmur passing his lips as the wind whipped his hair about his face; and a bee found him extremely interesting. She glared at him for a second before her face relaxed and she crossed her arms.

"Serves you right," she said. "If you want him to go away you'll have to do something about it yourself. You're a grown man."

Then she tossed her hair over her shoulder, turned and marched further out into the yard. From that distance she could see the barn door was slightly open. A few of the horses were even out in the paddock beyond it; she could hear them calling to one another now. Her brow furrowed and she frowned. What was going on? Horses out, barn door open…and then she saw Draco's tall, thin figure move out of the shadow of the doors and head up the trail towards her. His blond hair gleamed nearly white in the sunlight and it was being tossed about as much as his father's, though the effect was quite different.

Hermione felt her movement arrested by the sight as her brain caught up with her eyes. The horses in the fields, the buckets in his hands and basket over his shoulder. His father up and dressed. The blanket she'd draped over him the night before now folded so carefully and laying on the edge of the chair.

Well. _Well_. She slid her arms tighter across her chest and bit her lip. What did she say? She couldn't question him about leaving the house without her- she had shown him all the ropes earlier in the week, after all. And that was sort of why he was there in the first place. He hadn't, in fact, done anything wrong except make her worry.

She bit down hard enough on her lip to draw blood and swore again. Wiping at her lip, she finally raised a hand at Draco.

"Good morning," she decided to try and to her relief, he smiled at her when he was close enough.

"Morning," he returned cheerfully, if a bit warily. He raised one pail and used his elbow to gesture to the basket at his side, its shoulder strap across his chest. "Ingenious device, this. Saved me some trouble."

"Isn't it," she replied wryly.

"Er, something happen to your lip?" he asked and moved past her, up the porch and to the door. She wiped at her lip again and stared at the blood on her fingers in annoyance.

"Nothing," she said. "Just bit it. Here, I'll get the door-"

She pulled it open for him and he gave her an almost bashful glance as he murmured a thank you in her direction. She nearly bit her lip again.

The world had just gotten to be a very interesting place. Was this the effect of their tête-à-tête the night before? Or did he hope for an earlier release on good behavior, since she was clearly too insane for him to actually want to stay there another second? She shook her head and followed him inside.

"Will your father be alright out there on his own?" she asked as she watched him unload his treasures in the kitchen. Milk into the pitcher in the refrigerator, the rest in the can. Eggs also into their space in the refrigerator. So, he'd actually been paying attention the last few days. That was also a good sign.

"I don't see why not," he replied as he unpacked the last of the eggs. "He was fine when I left him there earlier." Not that it had been easy to leave him there, Draco added silently. It had been damned hard, but he'd done it anyway. After all, Hermione was convinced his father was still in there, still functioning, and Draco had seen it himself on rare occasions. So he'd reasoned that if his dad truly needed help, he would come to long enough to alert somebody.

It still hadn't been easy, though, and he'd looked over his shoulder to where his father sat with every other step he'd taken to the barn. But there comes a time, he'd told himself, that a man has to grow up and leave his parents behind…or at least trust in the spells protecting them. That fact, like it was for Hermione, had been a large deciding factor for him.

Hermione nodded and wandered over to the pantry and pulled out the bread. "How about some French toast?" she asked. "Actually, I don't have any stale bread…or we could have cinnamon on toast, if you like." She continued to chatter as she worked at the counter, quite ignoring his proximity and the fact that even though he hadn't yet shaved and showered that morning, she could still smell the Davidoff all over him. "Thank you, by the way, for taking care of the chores this morning."

"It's what I'm here for," he replied carelessly.

"Still, it was…good of you to take care of it without my having to ask. French or cinnamon and sugar?"

Her back was still to him despite her show of good humor and he knew she was feeling awkward since their conversation. Uncomfortable with his familiarity. At least, that's what he told himself, never realizing she was simply avoiding him seeing the way she was inhaling his smell of cologne, fresh air and horses. Now he answered her in a quiet voice.

"Cinnamon would be nice," he said.

"It'll be waiting for you once you're done cleaning up," she told him, waving a hand over her shoulder.

He took it as a dismissal and backed out the kitchen door and headed up the stairs. Hearing the creaks above her head a moment later, Hermione turned around.

"Draco? But I didn't ask you how you wanted the eggs-"

Her voice dropped off as she spied the egg basket still sitting on the kitchen table. A small bouquet of wildflowers lay next to it, bound with a bit of straw that had clearly come from the newly mucked stalls.

Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly went to work on the cinnamon toast with a ferocity her bread box had never seen.

* * *

Ginny phoned Hermione as soon as she thought it was humanly decent. When Hermione answered somewhat breathlessly, Ginny held the phone away from her ear and stared at it suspiciously. Then she held it back up and demanded Hermione tell her what was the matter.

"Nothing," Hermione replied.

"So you're just out of breath because you're pounding out some bread dough?"

"No, Gin-"

"Ok, then. Beating some eggs."

"Ginny!"

"Beating some men?"

Hermione gasped and Ginny laughed some. "Right, I know. Not funny. Then what's the matter?"

There was a pause and then Hermione whispered, "I'm really not sure I want to say it aloud. It's less real if I pretend it hasn't happened."

Ginny froze. She'd heard those words from her friend before and they never hailed good news.

"Hermione-"

"Oh, lord, nothing terrible has happened. I mean, I hope it's nothing terrible. I think he just got some kind of fancy into his head about me."

"Malfoy?" Ginny's voice was incredulous.

"Well, we talked last night. What I mean is, we, you know. Talked."

Ginny felt less than friendly all of a sudden. "And what, pray tell, did you have to talk about?"

"Oh, for christ- Ginny, I didn't tell him everything. But he was in hiding for a great deal of time and he hadn't kept up with everything and it seemed fair, after he'd told me all about himself-"

"Wait, he told you about- what, are you running therapy for wizards now? First me, now Malfoy. Who's next?"

"Oh, Ginny. It was bound to happen sooner or later, wasn't it? Having that sort of talk. I can hardly avoid it when he lives under my roof and eats my food and I'm giving him Muggle Studies lessons."

Ginny decided she was feeling friendly after all. "That sounds like the best punishment any of that lot could ever be delivered. Can I sign Zabini up for some?"

"Ginny," Hermione said. "Honestly. Now, what was it you wanted to talk about? Lessons for yourself?"

"Oh, no, you don't," Ginny replied. "You still haven't answered my question. What had you in a bother just now? And why is it related to this supposedly therapeutic conversation you had in the dead of night?" Ginny suddenly had a horrifying thought. "Oh, no. Has Draco decided he's in love with you? That he's going to rescue you from your bitter lifestyle?"

Hermione paused again. When she spoke her voice was barely audible. "Lord, I hope not," she said. "No, no. It's nothing like that." But even she didn't sound convinced. Stockholm Syndrome existed, after all.

"No," she said again, forcing confidence into her voice. "But he did leave me a bouquet of wildflowers. It's rather sweet, I suppose. I think he feels bad about what I- what we- went through."

"Most people do once they know the whole story," Ginny replied drolly, but there was no intention of humor behind her words.

"Well, he doesn't know the whole story. And anyway, I know more about him than he does about me. Although I'm working on his father, who is still a closed book in many ways."

"Still comatose?"

"He's not that, exactly," Hermione said and slid the tray of the cinnamon and sugar bread slices into the oven. Then she started in on the eggs and even pulled a tin of kippers out of the pantry. "He's aware, he just chooses not to respond. Or perhaps this state is so natural to him now he has trouble responding? I'm not one hundred percent sure," she said, shaking her head. "I'm going to read through Lucius' file again as soon as I can. But the therapy is promising, I think."

On her end, Ginny wandered across her flat into her kitchen. Zabini was up, had even made a sort of breakfast- which meant he'd laid out the muffins, butter and jam and brewed tea- but he'd holed himself up in his room again. Ginny poked at one of the muffins and contemplated eating it.

"So, dear old Lucius is showing signs of life?"

"He is," Hermione replied. "I know he's in there. And before you say it, yes, I know he did terrible things, once. But he is paying for them. His whole family paid for them. Honestly, Gin, they never even found out who murdered Narcissa-"

"That doesn't make anything he did ok."

"No, but I think it's safe to say he's sorry for it. And it's not like he's going to go on and do anything else. He can't, after all."

"That's true," Ginny grudgingly allowed as she picked at a muffin. "On my end, I finally got Zabini's file. Harry sent it."

"Did he? That's good of him."

"And he…never mind."

Hermione decided to let that one pass. If there was something finally happening between Ginny and Harry, it was not only high time, but Ginny would talk to her about it when she was ready.

"Is there anything that helps you out?" she asked instead.

"Not really," Ginny replied. "Just that he's probably innocent of all charges and aside from being a complete tosser, there's nothing the matter with him."

"Has he tried anything else?"

"No-o," Ginny said, drawing it out thoughtfully. "But you know, he's been acting sort of…funny. Not unlike your Draco," she finished in a teasing voice.

"He's hardly my Draco," Hermione said sharply, no-nonsense once more. She would not allow anybody's feelings to get carried away just because of confidences and wildflowers. Even if the man delivering the wildflowers smelled ridiculously good. He only smells that way because I bought him the products, she reminded herself forcefully. One of the kippers flew off the griddle, she put so much force behind the spatula. She looked down at it morosely, lying on the floor in a small puddle of grease and sighed.

"Lost a pancake?" Ginny asked innocently at the long pause.

"Just a kipper," Hermione said. "Is that all, Ginny?"

"No, it is not all," Ginny retorted. "We were talking about me and my problems, remember?"

"Maybe we could if you'd stop making snide remarks and distracting me," Hermione promptly replied. Ginny laughed.

"Ok, that's fair. Look, yesterday, after Harry left, I…well, at any rate I had a nightmare."

"Oh, Ginny- what were you doing? Drinking in the middle of the day again?"

"Like you've done so much better," Ginny snapped and heard Hermione gasp. She relented some. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just tired and confused."

Hermione didn't say anything at first and Ginny closed her eyes. "Hermione-"

"I know, Gin. You don't have to say anything. But you know, last night I didn't take my pills. I know it's only one night, but…I'm going to do this, Ginny. I won't live like this anymore. Only teaching one class because it takes me a full week to recover from the strain; living alone where the most socializing I do is going to my stylist every two months…I won't let myself do it anymore." She took a breath. "I told Lucius that no one gets to check out. That we're all stuck here with one another, but what have I been doing the last eight years? Barely surviving."

"That's not true," Ginny protested. "You've been amazing, Hermione, and I'm sorry if I never told you that before. You've been doing more than I have, anyway. I really…I don't like that you left us all, but I understand it and I wish I was brave enough to do the same, honestly. To take a chance like that, even if it's in the completely opposite direction of where everyone expects you to go. I always looked up to you, Hermione, and I still do," she finished quietly.

Hermione rather thought she might be in tears in a moment. She beat the eggs a little more ferociously.

"Well," she said. "Well. Thank you, Ginny. That…means a lot. And you- now you'd better tell me what happened with Zabini."

"Right," Ginny said, taking a deep breath and gathering herself. "Like I said, I had a nightmare and when I came to, Zabini was there and ready to help out. He actually tried to help clean up some before I stopped him. And after I'd gone back to my room to sleep it off, I woke up pretty late to find him outside my door, asking if I was alright and telling me he'd made dinner."

"And had he?" Hermione asked, slightly incredulous.

"Yeah, he had," Ginny said. "Soup and sandwiches. And we talked a little longer and he said something really…strange."

"Strange how?"

"Well, he told me he didn't like being here, under me, and that he hated owing me 'this much' and so he'd do his best to never owe me anything else."

Hermione frowned. "In his words?"

"Those were his words, essentially. But I looked at him like he'd gone mental and told him I had no idea what he was talking about and that it was the wizarding world he owed. So _then _he looked me over and acted sort of confused. And he said, 'You think that, do you?' Which was followed by a, 'You do think that.' And he stalked off after that. But it was extremely confusing. I have the feeling there's something going on with him that's not in his file."

Hermione pursed her lips and began setting the table and dishing out the food. "That does sound suspicious. Are you sure-"

"That I didn't just dream it? I'm positive, Hermione. I may be mental, but I'm hardly lucid when I'm having one of my fits," she joked and Hermione rolled her eyes. "And stop rolling your eyes at me!"

"You can't see me!" Hermione protested and Ginny laughed.

"I know you too well."

"You do," Hermione allowed and then sighed. "Well, what do you want to do about Zabini?"

"Nothing, for now. Maybe I'll find out something else in the next few days. But I had thought…" She paused and Hermione frowned.

"Had thought what? Ginny, promise me you'll be careful-"

"It's nothing like that," Ginny said hastily. "It's just that when he said those things, I'd rather wondered what on earth could possibly have made him feel like he owed me; and if it's a secret, which it certainly seems to be, since he didn't just tell me what it was about; what secret would be big enough that he'd feel like he owed me and also didn't want going in his file? If any of that makes sense," she finished breathlessly.

Hermione caught her meaning immediately and nearly dropped the platter of cinnamon toast. Fortunately, Draco had just arrived back downstairs and he dashed forward to catch it.

"I've got it," he said, taking it from her and Hermione pulled her hands back as if they'd been burned. Draco watched her turn away from him, her face pale, and he knew it wasn't him that had upset her. "What is it?" he asked and she waved a hand at him, telling him to go fetch his father.

"Who's that?" Ginny asked. "Eavesdroppers?"

"Draco just came back in. He's gone back out now to get his dad." Hermione couldn't quell the shaking in her voice. She lowered it drastically. "You honestly think Zabini has something to do with…us?" she whispered, gripping the counter for support.

"I don't know," Ginny replied. "But it's possible. We never knew exactly what happened, ourselves, did we?'

"But we found those bodies…"

"We did," Ginny said, with a shake in her voice to match Hermione's. "But they always wore the cloaks and masks and we never saw what went on outside our cell, did we? It's possible. It may not be very probable, but you have to admit it's possible."

Hermione put a hand to her mouth and tried to think rationally, but it was impossible. "Ginny," she murmured, "will you be alright?"

"I have to be," her friend replied. "I'm sorry I've upset you. Do you need to go?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Yes, I do. Gin-"

"I understand," Ginny said. "I _am_ sorry. We need to talk again soon, though."

"And Harry," Hermione added. "Harry needs to know. He would have Zabini questioned on your word alone."

"I can't do that yet," Ginny said. "But I will if I can't find anything else out in the next week. I promise. After all, you're right and it could just be my imagination. Maybe he's sorry for all the times he called me a blood traitor, who knows? Either way, I'll be careful."

"Alright. Thank you for calling, Ginny. We will talk soon."

"Cheers," Ginny responded and then hung up. She sat staring at the phone for a few minutes and continued to pick at the muffin before her.

Her head full of questions about the past, she didn't notice Zabini as he quietly moved away from the open doorway and back to his room.

* * *

**AN: So some of you are on the right track (by now you should know who you are and be feeling quite smug). ;) Anyway, cheers to all my faithful readers. Cookie for me? Pleeeease? This chapter was like, two days in the making! TWO DAYS. *sigh* The things I do for my art.**


	18. Hides Like a Child

**I still don't own Harry Potter, omfg.**

**AN: Oh, gods, I was about to ramble in my AN. FT. Clearly I need sleep, as it is pine pollen season in VA. *flails* Also, I hope you like the latest chapter. If you don't, there's not a lot I can do about it. Here, have some more Lucius. **

**P.S. I have no idea how that Harmione got in there. It wasn't me, I swear. She will totally make the kissy face with Draco someday and then maybe all will be right with the world.**

* * *

Hermione set the phone on its hook with a soft click and kept her hand there for several seconds, trying to calm herself for the second time that morning. She knew what Ginny had meant; she didn't even begrudge her friend the phone call or need for advice and reassurance. But she had not anticipated having those memories drudged up so soon after she'd just conquered them the night before. For ages she and Ginny had held an agreement between them: they would only talk around the trouble in question, and never for very long. The conversation they'd just had…it had shaken her. One of their problems had been just that: they'd never had any closure. One day they'd come to, realized their captors hadn't been in to see them in at least three days, and they tried the door. It had been unlocked. She and Ginny had struggled out of the cell, which had been quite makeshift; and turned out to be in the basement of some sort of ramshackle cottage- they hadn't hung around long enough to take a proper tour; and they'd found Ron and managed to make their escape, past the bodies of dead Death Eaters. (A fact which had nearly sent all three of them off into hysterics, at first.)

And that had been that. They'd had no idea where they were, but eventually made it to a road; and Ginny had gotten one of the wands they'd stolen to work long enough to glamour them for the trip to London; and they'd found their way into a ministry that had given them up for dead. Harry hadn't, of course. Harry had been in charge of the search for them since day one and when they'd seen his face, they'd each of them broken down right there, in the middle of the ministry. It had been as close to old times as it would ever be, she thought. That memory of arriving and him coming out and embracing them all…it had been the last taste of normalcy. Before he knew what had happened. Before they'd been poked and prodded by an endless stream of medi-witches and wizards. Before…

Hermione choked back a sob and bent over the counter, hands clutched to her sides.

"Hermione?" Draco asked from behind her and she jumped, managed to get herself upright. She stayed facing the window.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Do you need a minute?"

She nearly laughed aloud. "I've had a minute, thanks," she croaked and the sobs began in earnest. She'd had several thousand minutes, in fact, in the eight years since her escape. None of them had done any good.

She felt, rather than heard, him move closer and she turned her head slightly. "Don't touch me," she hissed and if it had come out as more of a threat than a request, she couldn't help it.

Draco let his hand fall back to his side. "My dad is still outside. I'm- I'll just join him. The food can wait."

Hermione shook her head, reached for a dish towel and began wiping frantically at her face, as if that would make the tears stop.

"No, no. You should come in, eat," she said, her voice shaking. With trembling hands, she made her way around the end of the counter and headed for the living room. "I'll be in my room for a bit."

And she made another, less glorious escape. Draco watched the kitchen door swing shut after her and he frowned. What exactly had Ginny said, that it had upset her so? He'd heard enough to know they were discussing Zabini and then their own imprisonment. His eyes suddenly widened and he darted back out the door and stared at his father, who had refused to get up from his bench moments ago; and was now sitting there, teeth grit, hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white. Draco could see the pain manifesting along his father's face and it made his heart ache.

So. A phone call that had upset Hermione and that his father could easily have heard, sitting on the back porch beneath a kitchen window. And now his father was agitated as well. He felt intrigued and confused at once and also guilty. What if, in addition to Zabini knowing something, his father knew something? He shook his head. No, that made no sense. What could his father have had to do with any of it?

He shook his head again and moved forward, to try and coax Lucius up and into the house. The man stayed where he was, even going so far as to shake his hand away when Draco tried to take his arm. No words, no expression aside from that now angry, pained one. Just a quick, violent jerk of his arm and Draco stepped back.

He felt his heart squeezed painfully. Seemed he couldn't help anyone this morning, despite his good intentions.

"Fine," he told his father. "I'll be just inside. Sit out here as long as you want, Dad."

There was no reason at least one of them shouldn't sit down to the breakfast Hermione had made. It _had_ been years since Draco had enjoyed cinnamon toast.

* * *

Lucius trembled with the effort to control himself, to keep upright on the bench and not fall to the ground in pain. He'd been alright, for a while. After he'd finally managed to hide away upon waking, he'd followed the motions of the day that Draco dutifully led him through; and he'd sat out here on the bench and even caught the sound of Hermione's voice, earlier, though not what she'd said. Then his walls had broken down.

He'd heard that bloody little coward's name- the name of the mere boy who'd managed to ruin them all- and everything had come flooding back. Perhaps it had been the sound of the witch's voice as it shook with emotion; perhaps the fleeting memory of what he'd seen that one, dreadful night; brought back by the sound of her voice as she spoke the wizard's name.

Whatever had caused it, he was back now. He was as aware as he could be through the flood of pain in his system and the anger clouding his thoughts. He wanted to do something about it, anything, but he couldn't move. He couldn't even pull himself back into his shell, his system was so worn and overloaded. There was only one thing, in fact, he could do. It would likely mean the end of his retirement; and he'd have to join the rest of them in their hell, as that bloody woman had so delightfully phrased it; but it was his only option if he didn't want to end up on the floor of the porch, crying like a little child.

"Draco." The word escaped through his lips as a hiss. It wasn't enough to reach the ears of his son, inside the stone walls of the farm house. But if he opened his mouth any more…

A cry of pain escaped his lips as he managed to stand on his own. That, of course, brought Draco rushing out of the kitchen.

"Dad?" Draco stopped short to take him in, his father, standing hunched over like an old man, limbs wracked with cramping. "Dad!" He rushed forward then and slid his arms around Lucius, and the weight of him forced them both to the ground.

Draco was panicked. He'd never seen his father like this; by the time he'd found him all those years ago, he'd already been in his coma-like state. Blank and staring, but never seeing. Since then he could count on both hands the number of times his father had spoken to him; and on one hand the number of times he'd seemed troubled. He never called out when he was having a nightmare, never even gave indications he _did_ have fits and nightmares. Not like Draco's, anyway. So to see this- it shook him deeply.

"Dad!" he called again and looked up from his father's huddled figure, glanced about rapidly. No one, nothing. But Hermione was inside, just a few steps away…it didn't take him any time at all to decide that his father's health was more important than any remaining dignity he might have left; and he opened his mouth again to call for her. His voice sounded hoarse to his ears, tense and scratchy, but he yelled for her rapidly, several times in a row. Until he heard the answering footfalls of her running through the house.

"Hermione!" he shouted again just as she burst onto the porch. She looked a mess, face streaked with tears, red and angry- no, that was terror on her face, not anger.

"Draco," she breathed in acknowledgement, and immediately dropped to her knees beside him. Her eyes and mind redirected themselves automatically and she focused entirely on Lucius. Draco felt for a brief moment as though he needn't be in the scene at all, but he shook himself from that thought and turned to his father as well. Hermione felt for his pulse, checked his forehead. She ripped at his shirt sleeve, tearing it away, and saw the muscles rippling beneath his skin. Her eyes still glued to Lucius, she finally spoke again.

"Muscle cramps, fever- Draco, we have to get him inside. Come on, up-" She suited her actions to her words and eased her arms beneath Lucius' shoulders before struggling to stand, herself. Draco followed immediately and together they got him inside. Draco nearly paused in front of the stairs once they'd made it through the kitchen, but Hermione shook her head.

"He'd never make it up the stairs and it will only cause him more pain. My room," she panted, still holding up her end of the wizard's contorting body. As if to punctuate her words, Lucius cried out and Draco felt tears of frustration snake from his eyes.

"Come on, Dad," he whispered. "Just a bit longer. Hermione can help you. Hang in there," he murmured once they'd deposited Lucius in the master bedroom. While he waited for Hermione to find whatever she was searching for, he felt for his father's pulse, as she'd shown him. "Hey," he called, feeling hopeful, "it's slowing! That's good, right?" He looked over his dad's face carefully. "And he seems in a little less pain-"

"Fuck!" he heard Hermione say and she raced back out of the bathroom. "That's bad. I know what you're doing, you damned coward," she hissed at the older wizard as he lay on the bed, looking decidedly ill, but calmer. "And if you think you're escaping me that easily, you're fucking mistaken."

Draco would've protested, but she was moving too fast for his senses, ignoring him too thoroughly. One knee on the bed, Hermione slid an arm behind his shoulders and hauled Lucius up, propping him against herself, before she forced his jaw open with the other hand and then slid something in his mouth.

"Water!" she snapped at Draco, who immediately grabbed the glass he'd filled and handed it to her. She poured half the glass down Lucius' throat, not caring that it dribbled out the sides of his mouth and onto the bedclothes. Then she shoved the glass back at Draco and began to rub Lucius' throat, passing her hand in a gentle downward motion under his jaw and over his neck. Draco saw his father grimace, but swallow.

There were several tense minutes of silence, Hermione still propping the older wizard up, while Draco held one of his hands. Ripples of expression crossed the man's face, but eventually they seemed to be more emotionally charged than the results of physical pain.

And then, to Hermione's satisfaction and Draco's horror, his father rolled his eyes over to gaze up at his captor, from where his head lay on her breast. He spoke, and his voice was as hoarse as it had been days ago, when he'd miraculously stood up to those nosy parents in the barn.

"Annoying bitch," he said, quite clearly aiming the remark at Hermione. She gave him a cold smile.

"Don't you feel better now you've said it, at least?"

"More trouble than you're worth," he murmured in response, but his face softened as he said it, his eyes full of…something. Tenderness? Or sorrow? Draco couldn't tell and Hermione was still looking smug as anything.

"Yes, all my friends have often said so," she replied. "And I might say the same of you. How are you feeling?"

"Better," Lucius said slowly. "Drowsy."

"That'll be the relaxant. I gave you more than I should've, probably, but considering I've never tried muggle drugs on an untreated cruciatus, well. It'll have to do. And anyway, if it kills you that's what you want anyhow, right?"

Lucius rolled his eyes away from her and closed them. He exhaled softly and only when he inhaled again did Draco feel his own heart start back up.

"Dad?" he whispered, but the only response he got was a light squeeze of his fingers. Hermione suddenly stiffened, as if she'd just realized where she was and what she was doing, and she scooted from behind Lucius. As gently as she could, she laid him back onto her pillows and then stood there quietly, watching him a moment.

"Well," she finally said, "there goes those sleeping arrangements."

Draco let go of his father's hand and stood up, suddenly feeling quite angry.

"What the hell did you do to him?"

"Maybe saved his fucking life," she replied coolly, though there was confusion on her brow.

"He was getting better before you forced those damned muggle pills-"

"He was not getting better, as you so adroitly put it, Draco. He was forcing himself- that, or the pain was- back into his shell. Into that comatose state he's been living in. I imagine it was the only way he knew how to deal with the pain of a curse gone wrong."

"But if it worked-"

"It wasn't working at all," she snapped. "The longer damage like that goes untreated, silently crippling him because he can't bring himself to tell anyone about it…the whole thing still has the potential to go disastrously wrong. What I did is far better for him, believe me. I don't want him addicted to drugs any more than you do. But at least it will dull the pain long enough for him to live out here, for us to get some real therapy in; have him see a doctor; get a real diagnosis and course of treatment. And if he still wants to skulk back to his bloody cave after all that, _fine_," she finished. "See if I bloody well give a fuck. But I will not allow him to live here and immobilize you both when he stands a perfectly decent chance at recovery."

Draco rocked back on his heels, face ashen. He hadn't meant to…he clenched his fists. He could see now the value of her words, knew that she was right. He looked back down at his father.

"I…thank you for helping him, then," he finally managed. It wasn't nearly adequate for what he wanted to say; that he'd simply lashed out at her because he was terrified of losing his father. But somehow he thought she might realize that.

"I haven't helped him yet, Draco," she replied. "I've only tried. Now go eat. I'll stay here with him. I need to make some phone calls."

"I'd really rather not-"

"I'm not asking you to leave," she said quietly. "Go eat. I'm not going to murder him while you swallow some tea and toast."

"I know that," he murmured. "That's not what I meant." But he turned and left without another argument. Hermione watched him go, felt her own face relax into one of sadness that mirrored his voice. She looked back at Lucius.

Honestly, she wasn't sure she'd done the right thing. Forcing muggle drugs on a helpless victim of a magical malady? Still, it wasn't like she could just take him to St. Mungo's; and to be honest, she had more faith in the muggle system of science and medicine these days than in the wizarding one. Forgetting her injury from earlier, she bit her lip again and tasted blood once more.

"Oh, hell," she muttered and finally marched over to the bedroom door and closed it firmly. Then she turned to pick up the telephone.

Behind her, Lucius Malfoy drifted along aimlessly in the first pain-free sleep he'd had in eight years.

* * *

Hours later, once Draco's need to check on his father every five minutes had been placated; and Hermione had made her string of phone calls; followed by a visit from the village doctor, who'd recommended specialists; Draco found himself back at his desk from the day before. He was nearing the end of the As and priding himself on being a fast reader when there was a rapid knocking on Hermione's front door. Lifting his head, he saw out the front screen easily enough and he immediately ducked his head again. Maybe the visitor hadn't noticed him-

"Malfoy, can you let me in?" Harry said, pointing to the small hook.

"Let yourself in," Draco responded readily. Old habits were hard to break, even in the face of time and tragedy.

"Can't," Harry replied. "Hermione had me set the spells against alohomora herself."

"I really-" Draco began to respond before he was cut off by the woman in question.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, appearing at the end of the hall. She hesitated. "What are you doing here?"

"Hermione, you had me set the spell yourself. Those extra failsafe ones, 'in case of grave pain or injury to any member of the household,'" he quoted. "I got an alert hours ago, but I had a hell of a time making it out of work. No one cares if one of the RATS has a complaint," he explained with an angry frown to round it off.

"It's nothing we can't handle," Hermione began and Harry cut her off.

"Like I'm going to go away now I'm here. Hermione," he said carefully, "are you ok?"

She glanced to Draco, who remained with his head buried in his text.

"I'm ok," she said slowly, "and everyone else will be, I think."

Harry's brows drew together. "Hermione. Let me in." His tone brokered no argument, but Hermione lifted her chin in defiance before she moved forward and, in excruciatingly slow motion, unlatched the door. Draco wanted to laugh, but he kept his mouth shut and settled for a smirk, instead. So, the golden boy was not so golden anymore? He had to admit to himself, though, that part of his pleasure came from seeing the old, snotty Hermione behind that fragile, yet forceful façade.

Harry yanked the door all the way open and strode inside. He glowered down at Hermione a minute and she up at him before his expression melted and he swept Hermione into a large hug.

Draco felt like an intruder.

"I was fucking worried about you, you ninny," Harry muttered into her hair. Hermione finally pulled free.

"I know. But I'm alright." She glanced at Draco again, who hastily turned back to his notes. She gazed at Harry again. "It's- well, it was Lucius. All those years ago he was hit with a particularly nasty curse, or curses, and it went untreated. I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but the reason he's been catatonic this whole time is because he was in so much pain otherwise."

Draco pretended they weren't discussing his father without him, but the end of his pencil broke anyway. Hermione looked to him again.

"I have to tell him, Draco," she said gently. "He's in charge of your case, personally."

"I know that," Draco ground out. He looked up at them both. "Has been since the beginning, hasn't he? In fact, you're the one who made sure we were caught, aren't you?"

Harry looked pained and Hermione glanced from one to the other, her eyes narrowing.

"What are you talking about?"

"What, didn't know your best mate was in charge of the- what do they call it- sting operation to smoke me and my dad out? Big surprise there."

Hermione frowned at Draco, who'd risen from his seat.

"Harry was an auror by then, Draco. He was in charge of bringing in dark wizards- as you both were proven to be. Or have our cozy chats made you forget that?"

Draco looked like he'd been slapped and he sat back down without another word, turned back to his work. If Hermione's gaze softened at his response, he missed it. Harry didn't, though. He looked back at Hermione.

"Er," he said. "We should talk."

"The kitchen," Hermione replied, her eyes still on Draco.

* * *

Once the door had swung shut, Hermione collapsed at the table. "Lord, I hate this. We take two steps forward and then three giant strides back. I'm never going to get anywhere with either of them, not if I can't control my mouth."

Harry took the seat across from her. "That's not true. He already seems better, never mind that you've earned the right to a sharp word or two. You're doing a wonderful job, just like you do with everything."

"Except for Ron," Hermione said, squeezing her eyes shut and laying her head down.

Harry stiffened, but didn't say a word. There was nothing to say about that, after all. Ron's note had said it all- something Harry still wanted to strangle him for, if he wasn't already dead. Then again, that was also probably a large part of his motivation.

Harry shook his head, reached out a hand and place it on Hermione's arms. "Come on, now. I didn't come here to open old wounds. Tell me what's going on with Lucius and maybe I'll tell you what a terrible auror I've been."

Hermione lifted her head, smiled weakly at him. The look was enough to break his heart. Merlin, that was what had driven them together every other time, wasn't it? He felt an old stirring in his chest and reminded himself that Ginny needed him just as desperately and that Hermione, for her part, didn't want him anymore. Not like that, anyway.

"Lucius will be alright…I hope. I've actually…I've actually been contemplating pulling down my old schoolbooks to rifle about for an answer."

"Have you? Why not just let me take him to Mungo's?"

Hermione shot him a look that clearly said, _idiot_. He frowned.

"So, you're just going to keep him here and treat him with pills and a country doctor?"

"No. But I don't want to move him, either. If they get him back into Mungo's and the ministry system you know they'll just keep him there indefinitely, until they've picked his brain dry. And he's simply too fragile to survive that kind of poking and prodding right now. I can do better for him here. Oh, Harry," she said suddenly, grasping his hand. "You have to promise not to tell anyone else. Or, if the alert's already been filed, you have to promise to leave out the details. Just…say he had an accident with a horse, or something like that."

Harry looked at her strangely. "It matters to you that much?"

"I can help him here, Harry. Better than they can. You _know _that."

Harry extracted his hand from hers and sat back, regarding her quietly. "On one condition."

Hermione was suddenly wary. "What's that?"

"You have to allow me the right to question him if he presents knowledge of any information that could be pertinent to other cases, or even their own."

Hermione started to protest and he raised his hand. "Hermione, you have to trust that I'm not going to abuse that information. I…look, what happened with the Malfoys before was a mistake."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"What I mean is," he began, "that the sting operation wasn't a sting operation. Yes, I ended up pulling them in, but only because Malfoy panicked and it ended up causing a scene at the ministry. I couldn't very well avoid taking them in then, could I?"

"Harry," Hermione breathed, "are you trying to tell me you were going to help them escape?" He didn't respond and her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to tell me that you've helped others escape?"

He glanced away, shrugged.

"Oh," she said. "So all those reports in the Prophet, about your cruelty and excessive force and the questionable deaths…I see."

"You do?" he asked and looked at her earnestly. She was taking it a lot better than he'd expected. "Really?"

"I think so," she replied. "It…makes sense. I kept asking myself where those reports came from and why- and that was after you'd started RATS-"

"After the trouble started with it, you mean," he interjected. "Anyway, look, it's strictly secret. I'd probably lose my job, or worse, get thrown in prison myself, with how bloodthirsty they are these days."

"It is quieting down some again though, isn't it?" Hermione asked and Harry nodded slowly.

"It is. That's partly why I'm more than happy to keep whatever happens with Malfoy quiet. I don't want to stir things up anymore, not when people are finally starting to calm down."

"I understand," Hermione said. "And I don't think I should tell Draco about any of this. At least, not just yet."

"That's probably a good idea," Harry replied. "He blames himself for a lot. That's never good for a bloke," he added, and he gazed past her to the window, his eyes clearly on some picture from the past.

"Know a lot about that, do you?" Hermione murmured and Harry pulled himself back. He looked her over.

"So do you," he replied softly. "But how I wish you wouldn't."

She gripped his hand tightly again before patting it and pulling away. "I'm alright. Or I will be. I have all sorts of new plans to work out, new distractions. It'll be as good as university was."

Harry was aghast. "Good for which one of us?" he protested. "If you call me at three in the morning, sobbing over your papers again-"

"Oh, sod off!" Hermione replied, but there was a smile on her face as she smacked his arm. He grinned back and was struck again by that yearning. He reached his hand out and placed it against the left side of her face, letting his thumb gently stroke the scarred skin. She was so surprised she didn't move at first.

"I miss you," he said simply.

Hermione swatted his hand away at that and then got up, turning from him in an attempt to hide her tears and shaking hands.

"You miss Ron," she said. "And so do I, and we always will. Haven't you figured it out, yet, Harry? That part of the reason you came to me was to keep him close?"

Her words stung, but his voice was level when he replied. "No," he said. "I miss you." Then he pushed back from the table and stood. "Now, you'd better take me to Lucius just so I can get a description for the report."

Hermione wiped her cheeks quickly and then turned and gestured to the door. Her hands were no longer shaking, Harry noticed with surprise.

"After you."

* * *

**AN: Muahahaha! I do believe there was a little jealous Draco up there, don't you? **


	19. Nothing to Win

**I don't own Harry Potter! Aaaarrrrrrrrgh!**

**AN: This is a much shorter chapter, but since the last one was so long, I figure it's ok. Moving right along! Also, I have no idea how that Zabinny got in there. It was not my doing! And it is not really going anywhere, I swear!!!! Harry/Ginny all the way!**

* * *

Later that evening, after Harry had owled Ginny with the news that something had happened at the farm and she should call Hermione, Zabini approached Ginny cautiously. She nearly dropped the phone, he crept upon her so quietly.

"Sorry," he said tersely as she scrambled to put it back on the receiver.

"No, it's ok," she said cautiously. "What is it, Zabini?"

"I heard you talking about…Malfoy earlier," he began hesitantly. Now came the hard part- how did he get the information he wanted without also arousing her curiosity? "Is he alright?"

Ginny crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, eyeing him steadily before she reached into a pocket for her cigarettes. He watched her as she lit one, then folded one arm back across her middle. She blew the smoke away from him, for once.

"Why?"

"He used to be my friend," Zabini ground out and Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"You two were never really friends."

Zabini set his jaw. Damn it all. How did she know that? She was so busy making cow eyes at Potter the whole time they were in school…

"You didn't know everything that happened in school."

"I knew enough," she replied, shrugging. Took another drag. "I was friends with more than just Gryffindors and some rag-tag Ravenclaws, anyway."

"So what, just because we were uneasy acquaintances means I can't care about how he is now?"

"Which one?" Ginny asked instead of answering him.

Zabini jerked his head back. She looked smug. Damn it to fucking hell.

"I just said-"

"No, you said Malfoy and then implied you meant Draco. But Hermione and I were talking about both of them and since you just so clearly told me you were eavesdropping, I think you're fishing for information. So I'll ask you again, which one?"

"Either," he growled. "Both. Does it matter?"

"Why does it matter to you?" she replied and her eyes were hard.

Zabini started to feel distinctly out of his element.

"It matters. Did it ever occur to you that those so-called acquaintances are all we have left in our lives, now?"

Ginny's expression softened some, but she continued to gaze at him through narrowed eyes. She inhaled deeply and the smoke blew from her lips and nostrils in a heavy cloud. She looked like some Hindi goddess, surrounded by incense and gilded red and gold with her hair falling about her face that way. Zabini felt more than uncomfortable and glanced away.

"Draco is fine," she finally said. "And Hermione is working with Lucius to improve his…comprehension," she said slowly. Zabini looked back at her. "That tell you what you wanted to know?"

"Yes," he said softly, though his hands clenched at his sides.

"Good. That's all I know." She put her cigarette to her lips again, but paused in the motion as she saw his eyes following her hand to her mouth. "You can go clean something now," she said. "Or whatever it is you do in your room, if you'd rather."

It was a dismissal and Zabini knew it, but he didn't follow directions that well and Ginny knew that, too. He started to take a step forward and she had her wand out and trained on him in a second.

"Get out," she said and the mesmerizing spell of her candor and smoking was over, though he continued to look at her in a way that was entirely too familiar for her tastes. And when he finally stalked from the room, she was more convinced than ever that he knew something about her, about her past…about the torture she'd endured at the hands of those men all that time ago. But whether it was because he'd been a part of it or because he'd merely stumbled upon the information, she still couldn't tell.

Hermione's advice of telling Harry what had happened crossed her thoughts again and she stubbed her cigarette out angrily. She wouldn't call him, not yet. This was something she needed to see through to the end on her own. Hermione understood that much. One week, she told herself. One week and then I'll tell Harry.

Seconds later, she heard the vacuum start up. She smiled wryly to herself. At any rate, she suspected that after that week was over she would have the cleanest floors in all of London. Then she put her hand to the phone and dialed Hermione.

* * *

Hermione wiped the cool rag along Lucius' brow again just as the phone beside her rang. She reached for it hastily, afraid of disturbing her patient.

"Hello?" she murmured, her eyes on Lucius' face. He still looked relatively peaceful and knocked out cold. The fever had gone down, at any rate, and that was a very good thing, indeed.

Hearing the phone, Draco poked his head into her room.

"I'll watch him," he said and she looked to him gratefully before sliding from her chair and exiting the room. She handed the rag to Draco carefully, not letting her fingers touch his as they had earlier that day; and he took it just as cautiously before turning all his attention to his father.

Hermione left the door open as she walked across the hall to the living room.

"Ginny," she said. "What is it?"

"Oh, the usual," her friend replied darkly.

"Zabini?"

"Merlin, I don't even want to talk about it. You know he was just in here, fishing for information about the Malfoys?"

"Why on earth-"

"Exactly what I said. Anyway, I told him a very little, but I don't think it satisfied him. Look, let's just talk about you. Harry owled me again."

"And you decided to phone rather than show up at six in the morning? Thanks so much," Hermione said, rolling her eyes before she collapsed into the nearest arm chair.

"Thought you might appreciate that."

Hermione snorted. "Well, what do you want to know?"

"Harry didn't tell me anything, really, just said something had happened and you might want to talk about it."

"How sweet of him."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione."

"He promised he wouldn't tell anyone."

"It's Harry, Hermione. And this is me. Now talk."

"Fine," Hermione grumbled. "Lucius had an episode and I think we might be close to a breakthrough with him. Turns out he developed his, well, catatonic state to deal with the pain from an untreated curse."

Ginny was immediately on the alert. "And what happened? What did you do?"

"Fed him painkillers and muscle relaxants. He's sleeping now. I told Harry I thought I should pull out my old books, look for some answers there."

"You're not taking him to Mungo's-"

"Lord, no."

"Good," Ginny breathed. "Well, do you want some help?" She paused. "You said I should come out for a lesson anyway."

"What would you do with Zabini?"

"Leave him," Ginny said promptly. "There's food in the refrigerator and the icebox, he knows how to cook enough to keep himself alive for one day and one night. And with the extra spells…" She shrugged. "So what do you say?"

"If you're sure you don't mind leaving him, then. I just don't think it would be a good idea for him to come here-"

"I would never," Ginny replied. "You don't have to worry about that. I don't want him anywhere near you or the Malfoys, either."

"Did something else happen?"

Ginny was silent for a minute and Hermione prompted her again. She sighed.

"He gave me one of those damned looks again. I had to pull my wand on him to get him to leave me alone."

Hermione frowned. "Did you talk to Harry yet?"

"No, and I won't, either. I told you I'd wait a week and I meant it. Now, tell me when you want me over tomorrow."

Hermione's frown deepened, but she decided not to push her friend. Ginny had issues enough without adding a fight with Hermione to them. They'd bickered enough the last week, anyway.

"Better make it the day after," she finally said. "I want to research some on my own, first."

"Fair enough," Ginny replied. "Don't you have an appointment coming up soon, too? I could watch them for you if you wanted-"

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said. "I do, but with what's just happened I think I need to postpone it. If I end up going at all," she added quietly.

Ginny went quiet and Hermione waited nervously for her response. She and her friends had argued over many things, but the one that Ginny had always been most understanding of was Hermione's need to look different, to change herself. After a long moment, Ginny spoke again and her voice was light and airy, though a tad breathy.

"Really? Changing it up again? Going to cut it all off this time?"

Hermione smiled wryly. She'd tried that one night and Harry had stopped her. Ginny had walked in on them, wrestling for a pair of scissors and immediately thrown Harry halfway across the room with some quick wandwork. Harry hadn't argued with Hermione over her hair in front of Ginny after that.

"No," Hermione said quietly. "I meant that I might just let it…go," she finished lamely.

"Oh. I see."

"It's just that these two are such a handful and I'd feel so bad leaving Lucius to anyone else while he's like this-"

"It's ok, Hermione," Ginny said, cutting her off. "You don't have to explain that to me. You never did."

"Thank you, Ginny," she replied.

"Don't- you know I don't care. Just be sure you stock up on that detangler you use. Want me to pick you up something from the Alley? George has really branched out at the shop," she offered and Hermione smiled again.

"That's ok. I'm fine. So, day after tomorrow?"

"Right. I'll bring a change. The extra bedroom still set up?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Although I'll most likely be up there with you."

Ginny froze. "What?"

Hermione laughed, that slightly gasping sound that forebodes impending hysteria.

"Lucius is in my room at the moment," she explained. "We couldn't get him up the stairs. So." She shrugged. "Fancy sharing a bath with Draco?" She laughed again and Ginny spoke sharply.

"I'll help you move him back upstairs," she said quickly. "When I come over, I'll move him for you. That's your sanctuary, Hermione. You don't need a bloody former Death Eater displacing you that way, even if he is suffering."

Hermione sobered and sighed. "I know. Look, we'll talk about it when you get here, say, eleven? You take care of yourself, Ginny."

"Oh, always," Ginny said sarcastically. "You too, love. I'll see you then."

"I will. Cheers."

Hermione hung up the phone and a shadow fell over her. She looked up and saw Draco at the entrance to the living room.

"What is it?"

"He's woken up," he said. "He's asking for you."

Hermione's brows shot up and her face mirrored the concern in Draco's eyes. "Let's go see him, then," she murmured.

Draco stepped aside to let her pass. Orange and juniper wafted beneath his nose as she brushed by him and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, then followed her into the bedroom, to his waiting father.

* * *

**AN: And whatever will happen next? I wish someone would tell ME. *sigh* Hand over the cookies, people. Now, or your favorite character gets it.**


	20. Body Bruised

**I don't own Harry Potter, absolutely not.**

**AN: Author's Secret 1- all the chapters are titled 'rehab' in numeric order on my hard-drive. XD As an aside, I'd really love it if someone ever got it into his or her head to make a fanvideo of this fic. Hint hint. Also, I so did not mean for Draco to get a hard-on for Hermione this quickly. But watching a scene like that, who can blame him? Not me! **

* * *

Hermione stood at the bedside and gazed down at Lucius before she leant over to feel his forehead. He tried to frown, but it took too much energy. Draco sat at the end of the bed, his eyes on Hermione's face and not his father's, for once.

"Your fever is gone," she murmured. "How are you feeling? Did you have something to say?"

"Apologize," he murmured in that raspy voice.

"For swearing at me earlier? You were upset, I understand that. Draco's said worse already."

Lucius' eyes flicked down to his son and back to Hermione. Draco was suddenly glad his father was incapacitated, or he had the feeling the man wouldn't have hesitated to cuff him one.

"Doesn't mean it," Lucius said, surprising him and Hermione glanced at Draco, her brows raised.

"I doubt that," she said. "Now what's the matter? Why did you ask for me?"

"Weasley," he began before he frowned and swallowed. Hermione reached for the water and then perched beside him, hoisting him up as she had earlier, and put the glass to his lips.

"Drink up. You're badly dehydrated after all that sleeping. It was good for you, but you need liquids. Come on, then."

Lucius drank, his head held up by her shoulder and Draco suddenly stood up and paced to the window. Hermione cast him a strange glance before she looked at Lucius again.

"Better? Good. Now talk."

Lucius swiveled his head as much as he could. If he had the energy for extra emotion just then he would have felt quite ridiculous, his head pillowed on his captor's breast that way, his own son acting like a jealous child. But he didn't have the energy for it. He was feeling weary and he ached all over, despite the fact that the pain was still blessedly gone for the moment. He wanted to swear at Hermione again himself, suddenly. After all that time alone, without feeling of any sort, she expected him to thank her for her meddling, for pulling him firmly out of his shell and holding him there.

He twisted his head away again. Whatever happened next, he may as well tell her what he'd meant to.

"Zabini," he managed to murmur through grit teeth. "Stay…away."

Hermione had not been expecting that, clearly. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously and looked up at Draco, who still had his back turned to them. His shoulders were tense and Hermione wondered at his behavior for a second.

"Draco, what does he mean?"

"No-" Lucius began and tried to move more, but a hiss of pain escaped his lips and Hermione's attention was diverted again.

"Are you hurting again?"

"No." He gave a tightlipped, small shake of his head. "Stiff. Sore."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "Now that, I can do something about. Don't worry about Ginny's problems, ok? I want you to just focus on getting better for now. We're all well protected, so there's no need to fret."

Lucius found the strength to grip her hand as she started to lower him back to the pillows.

"No!" he barked. "Zabini-"

Hermione's face went quite cold. "I promise, he's taken care of. But I'll speak to Harry about it if you absolutely insist."

Lucius let out a relieved sigh, but his hand didn't relinquish his grasp. Hermione glared down at him as his eyes closed again and then up at Draco.

"Draco, your father seems to be under the impression I'm a safety blanket," she said, tugging her hand from him unsuccessfully.

Draco was at her side in a moment and prying his father's fingers open. "Dad, you have to let go. _Dad_."

Lucius' hand relaxed and he drowsed, his body going slack again. Hermione made a noise of distress and Draco realized he hadn't let go of her wrist. He dropped it quickly, an apology on his lips before he remembered she didn't care for the word.

"So, you said you can help his being sore?"

"Ah, yes," she said, and though she didn't back away from him, Draco could feel her tensing. "I can give him a massage- I don't normally employ those methods, but I took the courses anyway, to supplement my education. It's a useful skill to have. I just haven't…" I haven't ever practiced on a man, she added silently. In fact, having him lay against her as she forced him to swallow water and pills was the most physical contact she'd had with a man who wasn't Harry and the other Weasleys in a very long time. Even putting an arm around Draco to help him up the stairs the night before was unusual.

Still, they were in her care and she forced her reservations down before she turned to Draco. "You can help me, if you like," she said.

"How's that?" he asked warily despite his interest. Hermione gestured to his father.

"Undress him for me while I get my supplies. And put him on his stomach, please."

Draco hesitated as she headed for the bathroom. "Undress him?"

"Yes- you need to strip him to his shorts," she returned and then disappeared. He could hear her rummaging about and he looked down at his father.

"Sorry, Dad," he muttered, almost to himself, and then bent to his task. He may not like it, but he had to trust her- hadn't she already done more than he'd ever hoped was possible? She was bringing his father, his only family, back to him and that had to be enough for him to act on faith.

Moments later, Lucius had been successfully rolled onto his stomach with few grunts of complaint from either of them; and his shirt and pants lay folded at the edge of the bed. Hermione walked from the bathroom, towels in her arms and a bowl filled with some bottles stacked atop them. Her eyes flicked to Lucius' prone form and she pursed her lips, but looked away again as quickly. Draco told himself he imagined the pink tint that rose to her cheeks.

"What else can I do?" he asked quickly and Hermione set her things down.

"Let's pull the blanket over him," she murmured and began tugging it from its folded position at the foot of the bed. "He needs to stay warm. It helps keep the muscles relaxed." She glanced up at Draco as they worked.

"I really do want to help him, Draco," she said softly. He paused and glanced up at her.

"I know," he replied, his voice just as quiet. Then he stood back as Hermione finished settling the blanket at Lucius' waist.

"I'll do his back first. You can have a seat and watch, if it makes you feel better," Hermione said, gesturing to the chair and she set the towels aside. It looked as if she wouldn't need them after all.

Which was fine with her, really. She didn't particularly want a naked Lucius beneath her sheets, anyway.

Picking up a bottle, she poured a spot of massage oil into her palm. Her hands shook some as she rubbed them together briefly. She hoped Draco hadn't noticed. Then she quickly set her hands to Lucius back, palms down, and began the massage.

Up and down, up and down, around the shoulder blades and down once again. She moved slowly to calm the rapid beating of her heart and her shaky nerves and finally, blessedly, the automatic motion kicked in. Her training from class took over and she felt her own shoulders ease even as she used her muscles to knead his back.

Lucius didn't make a sound throughout, not even when she gently lifted his arms and legs, moving the blanket back over him to keep him warm, and massaged her way down to his feet. Not even when she had Draco help her roll him back over so she could work on his jaw, his pectorals, his quads.

Draco remained standing after that, wiping his slightly sticky palms on his pants. The oil was scented like lavender and that damned juniper again and the whole room smelled of it. Not to mention that seeing her hands work their way over so much naked skin, the oil gleaming softly in the lamp light, her fingers pushing the muscles and body parts this way and that, that intense look on her face…

He turned for the door and Hermione broke her rhythm. At that, Lucius finally gave a small sign of life. Just a whisper of a sigh, really, but Hermione looked down at him consternation and continued to work on his outstretched arm.

"What's the matter?" she asked Draco softly and he remained facing the door, unwilling to turn back around.

"Nothing," he said, though his voice sounded forced.

Hermione switched arms, walking around the bed to the other side, passing close to Draco. His shoulders straightened and he took a few steps out.

"You don't have to leave," she murmured in response, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"I really…I do," he breathed. "Trust me."

Hermione felt her pulse speed up again and she willed her hands to be still, to focus on their task.

"I wish you wouldn't. I'll be done in a short while," she said, but a whisper of air against her cheek told her he'd already gone. Don't leave me alone with him, was the sentence stuck in her throat. Not when he's bigger than me and quite undressed. She shook her head at herself. No, she was past that. Lucius was in no state to do anything, never mind the spells protecting them all.

Still, she continued to glance up at the doorway every few minutes after that, wondering why he'd gone. Was he uncomfortable with seeing his dad so vulnerable? Did he not like Hermione's hands being all over him? Was the smell of the oil bothering him?

With a slight frown on her face, she looked back down at Lucius, who wore a contented expression. His breathing was deeper and she knew she'd sent him off into slumber, even with all her pushing and pulling. She reached up and smoothed her hands along his jaw again, working his temples and down his neck. Then she moved over his stomach and bent across him, pushing her hands down the tops of his thighs once again. He'd had difficulty standing earlier and she knew that with all the sitting he'd been doing, his legs were weak.

She tried not to think about how close her hands were to another part of his anatomy.

"Don't you get any ideas, Lucius," she murmured as she worked. "I'm only helping you so you'll recover and take your son and get the hell out of my life."

A longer sigh escaped him and she lifted her hands away, startled, before giving him a final rub down. Then she wiped her hands on the nearby towel and covered him with the blanket again.

"There, how's that feel?" she said and perched beside him. Some shorter strands of hair had worked loose from his braid when he'd been rolled about and before she thought about it, Hermione had reached a hand up and gently brushed one from his face. Her fingertips lingered along his high brow and chiseled cheek bone and his lids flickered in his sleep. She pulled her hand back and crossed her arms about her stomach, her teeth working at her lips again.

It's almost like it was with Ron, she thought. That's why I'm feeling so tender hearted. Look at him, skin sunk into his cheeks, hollows beneath his eyes…whole body wracked with pain unless he's being fed potions…she stopped short and realized she'd been reaching towards him again.

What is wrong with me, she chastised herself. Still, she couldn't seem to leave him alone. She reached down and laid a hand on his arm where it lay under the blanket. There were definitely similarities between Lucius and Ron…but it wasn't just that made her pause and consider her thoughts. After all, there weren't many wizards who knew those particularly nasty curses; the ones that left a body in pain for days, even weeks; and if gone untreated, could permanently cripple a man. Even she knew of them only in theory, except when she'd seen them in practice. Hadn't she just thought of Ron, after all?

She frowned and recalled Ginny's words, followed by Lucius' just a while ago. There truly was something going on with Zabini, wasn't there. Something that she now thought it was possible Lucius knew about. And Draco? Where did he fit into it?

Shaking her head, she patted Lucius' arm, then stood.

"Don't worry. I'll get you better and then- then I expect you to tell me all about it. Don't think you can make cryptic remarks while you're ill and have me pretend like they never happened. Then again," she added, "you don't really want me to forget about them, do you? No. You seemed quite serious, for all your drugged speech." She sniffed. "Well. Good night, Lucius. I'll see you in the morning. I hope you sleep well in my bed," she finished snidely, though her mouth crooked up at the corners some.

Lucius didn't respond, of course, and Hermione sighed, shrugged, and finally walked from the room, her pajamas in hand. With a last glance back at the strange, weary man lying on her bed, she flicked the lights off and pulled the door to.

* * *

Upstairs, Draco leaned against the bathroom sink and stared at himself in the mirror. What in Merlin's bloody name was wrong with him? Getting turned on just because Hermione had been giving his dad- his _father_- a massage? He took a few deep breaths and splashed more water on his face, even though what he felt he really needed was a cold shower. It was utterly inexplicable.

And, ok, so maybe he'd been imagining himself in his father's position, with her hands on his bare skin instead, working the muscles of his legs and arms; and instead of the intensity he'd seen on her face she'd be looking down at him dreamily, seductively even, while he…

He staggered over the shower, turned on the cold tap and stuck his whole head under the spray.

Something was definitely, completely wrong with him. Even the fact that half her face looked as if someone had gone at it with a butcher knife didn't matter. He'd run his hand over it lovingly and kiss every scar and then move to her arms and kiss those scars too, and she'd do the same for his and-

Fuck. Fucking, _bloody _hell. Without anymore preamble, Draco began to strip and he'd already started to climb into the shower when there was a knock on the door. He froze and looked over at the simple white obstruction with its shiny brass handle.

"Draco?" she called. He swallowed hard. Stop it, he told himself. Stop acting like a wanker and answer her. But he couldn't open his mouth.

"Draco, are you ok?" she asked. "Have I upset you? Your father is fine, he's sleeping now. I just…I wanted to let you know that I'll be in the room across from yours tonight and tomorrow. I'm just heading to bed now."

There was a pause, but even over the sound of the spray he could hear her quiet breathing and the shuffle of her feet. He knew she was still out there. He could bloody smell her, for fuck's sake.

"If you can't sleep you know where the tea is," she finally said. "I'll probably be down there at some point, myself. Well, good night."

Quite without realizing it, he'd gravitated toward her voice and now Draco leaned against the door, pressing the whole of his naked body to the cool wood. He could feel the light spray of water against his back and legs as it occasionally escaped the tub's confines. He squeezed his eyes shut.

It was just that he hadn't been around a woman in so long, he told himself. It was just that she smelled so damned good after months, years, of nothing but damp hideouts and musty cells. It was just that she'd listened to him when no one else would, not even his father. It was just that she'd been so much kinder to him, to both of them, than he'd ever expected, or even had the right to expect. Not from her.

He opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror, hugging a door that she'd stood on the opposite side of moments before, preparing for a very cold shower he was in dire need of.

He was pathetic.

And he was so very, very screwed.

* * *

**AN: *rubs hands together gleefully* Yes, yes you are, Draco. Muahahaha!**


	21. No Chance For Us

**I really, really don't own Harry Potter.**

**AN: So, chapter 21 has arrived. And now the story takes off. Then again, I could be lying. :) Let the guessing continue! Mella Potter, I demand you hold up your end of the bargain. ;) Minx.**

* * *

And so the days wore on. Ginny, eyeing Blaise suspiciously even as she was nicer to him; Blaise eyeing her in return and fishing for information on the Malfoys even while he tried to avoid answering any of her questions. Then there was Hermione, wondering why Draco left the room every time she entered one and seemed to avoid her touch so stringently; Draco, wishing he could just sink into a hole and die rather than endure this torture; and Lucius, who noticed everything and did nothing, except work on regaining his strength. Not even Ginny's visit to the farm, her riding lesson and subsequent sleepover, broke the monotony of their strange routines. Not even when she and Hermione drank a bottle and a half of wine between them; and Hermione woke up the next day to find they'd both passed out in the living room and someone had thoughtfully covered them with blankets. Not even when Ginny used that levitating spell to help Lucius up the stairs to his own bed again.

Nothing seemed to faze any of them. It worried Hermione.

The storm had to break sometime, after all. Things couldn't continue on with the uneasy truces and brief glances and unvoiced suspicions. Something would happen soon, she knew it. She just wished she knew what that something would be, because at least then the waiting would be over.

A phone call tore her from her thoughts and she jumped at the sound, then picked up.

"Hello?"

"I'm not going to tell Harry," Ginny said. Hermione frowned.

"What?"

"You know, you made me promise to tell Harry if I didn't learn anything new within a week? I can't. I don't want to bring him in on this. There's too much at stake."

"Ginny, it's a simple questioning."

"No, I can't."

"Ginny," Hermione said, sitting up straighter. "What's happened?"

"Nothing! That's just it, nothing has happened. He's not doing anything to provoke me, much, and I'm not doing anything to him aside from making him angry with all my direct questions. So you see, there's nothing the matter. It can't hurt to let it go another week."

"Ginny, no. You need to tell Harry. We agreed-"

"Oh, what, like you're going to tell him all about what Malfoy said?"

Hermione felt her face flush. "That's different."

"It's no different from Zabini. Well, are you?"

"No," Hermione finally said in a tight voice.

"There you are. Now, what are we going to do about it?"

"So first you insist you won't tell Harry and then you want me to help you plan something? I don't think so," Hermione replied. "All our planning sessions end with empty bottles of wine and passing out, or worse."

"Hermione," Ginny whined.

"Absolutely not. If I can't dignify the situation by talking to Harry about it, I'm certainly not going to discuss it with you any longer."

"Fine. It's not like I wanted your opinion anyway."

"Which is why you called me."

"You're being such a bitch, Hermione," Ginny muttered. "What's the matter, Malfoy got your knickers in a bunch?"

Hermione gasped. Her voice went cold. "Which one do you mean, Ginny?"

"Either would do, wouldn't they?"

"Fuck you," Hermione hissed.

Ginny sighed. "Hermione, I'm sorry-"

"No, you're not. Don't say another word, Ginny Weasley. You listen to me. You need to tell Harry about this and you're right, so do I. What you do on your own time is your business, but if you don't tell Harry in the next week, I will. We can't deal with this by ourselves. We're too close to the situation."

There was a long pause and Ginny sighed again. "Ok. So if I tell Harry about Zabini, you'll do the same from your end?"

"This isn't a bargain, but yes. I will. One more week, Ginny. Figure out what you're doing and when you know, call me again."

"Hermione-"

"No buts! This isn't just our lives," Hermione said. "It's theirs, too. We can't play around with information like this, acting like amateur detectives."

"You'd look great as Holmes, though," Ginny demurred and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.

"I know you think I'm being a bitch," she said, "but there's nothing I can do about that. Now, is there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

"No," Ginny replied and this time her voice was sullen.

"Then I'll hear from you again soon, I hope."

Ginny hung up without responding and Hermione looked at the phone in her hand regretfully, then hung up and rested her head in her hands. She let out a long, noisy sigh. Ginny was right; she needed to tell Harry, too. It wasn't fair of her to be such a bitch to Ginny about it and not follow her own damned advice. But it was so hard, dealing with Lucius, who was still very close-lipped about everything; in addition to Draco, whose neuroses seemed to have doubled since his father's reentry. And then there was the farm, and her beloved horses, whom she'd been neglecting since Lucius' recovery had begun…

She shook her head. How did normal humans deal with it all? The strain of daily life, plus her own baggage, plus…then again, she had been sleeping better, lately. And last night- had she even had a nightmare last night? No, she'd been so exhausted she'd just collapsed into bed and gone straight to sleep. If she'd dreamed at all, she didn't remember them. And that was on top of the memory of Lucius lying in her bed- an incident which had kept her from getting to sleep right away the night after Ginny had moved him. The thought of his length spread out along her mattress, the way his arms and legs had felt in her hands as she'd massaged him had kept the breath high in her chest and her heart beat erratic.

She suspected something was wrong with her. He just reminded her of Ron, that was all. Despite the fact that his hair was pale blond where Ron's had been flaming red; and Ron had been the very best of men while Lucius-

"Alright there?" a quiet voice asked and she jerked her head up to see Draco standing in the doorway.

"Tea already?" she tried to joke, brushing off his question. "You're not even in your pajamas. Is it a preventative measure?" She stood and made for the stove top and her tea kettle.

Draco shook his head. "None for me, thanks. Are you ok?" he asked again stiffly.

Hermione shrugged. "As can be expected with two grown men eating me out of house and home," she replied, laughing slightly. When she didn't hear similar laughter from Draco, she turned about, one hand still on the kettle. There were spots of color high in his cheeks and his brows were drawn together angrily over his eyes.

"If we're that much trouble I wish you'd say so," he said softly. Hermione shook her head.

"It was a joke, Draco- Draco-"

But he'd already turned and walked away, out into the hall. She frowned. She couldn't win tonight. She'd snapped at her best friend; was hiding important information from her other best friend; and now she'd accidentally alienated the only other person in the house with whom she could have a normal conversation. With a sudden clank, she put the kettle back in its place and turned the gas off. She wandered back to the table and sat down again, crossed her arms in front of herself. Then she laid her head down on the table and had a good cry.

* * *

Lucius watched Draco stalk into the room, walk over to his bed, and sit down, facing the wall and the window outside. But Lucius didn't need to see his son's face to know when something was the matter. He could tell from the set of his shoulders, from the way he'd raked his hair back angrily seconds ago, the way the room sparked with tension. He may have been an all but absent father the last eight years, but his son hadn't changed that much.

He was tired and ready for sleep. After a week's worth of long days filled with walks; exercises for his legs; visits from specialists; and Hermione's prying eyes and questions, he didn't particularly have the energy to stay up and counsel his son. But he knew what his duty as a father was and his voice was quiet when he spoke.

"Something is bothering you."

Draco jerked some, as if startled. "You're awake," he said.

"The light is on," Lucius said dryly. Draco gave a sheepish laugh, raked a hand through his hair again.

"Got me there, Dad," he replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Better every day," he lied. While his physical pain was easing some, the ache in his heart, on his conscience, grew worse. Every time he saw Hermione's bright eyes, the smile that bridged those two halves of herself…it only reminded him what he'd lost and for what.

Not that it had been entirely in vain, after all. Not if his son was behaving like this.

"That's good to hear, Dad, really," Draco replied, but his voice trailed off at the end and his shoulders hunched more.

"Tell me," Lucius said.

"I…should really get to bed, too," Draco said suddenly, standing up and starting to strip.

Lucius pursed his lips and eyed his son as he walked over to the dresser and pulled out his pajamas. He was about to speak again when there was a timid knock on their door. Draco jumped and stared at the door guiltily, but he didn't move.

"Draco, are you asleep?" Hermione's muffled voice traveled to them and Lucius finally grunted.

"We're both awake," he called and ignored the annoyed glance his son gave him. The door opened and Draco was caught with his shirt off and pants hanging open off his narrow hips. Hermione didn't bat an eye as she took them both in.

It was obvious to them both that she'd been crying. Lucius watched as his son flushed, clearly upset, and then he gestured.

"Why don't you come in?" he asked. The glare from Draco was a fullfledged one this time. He merely raised an eyebrow in return. Draco lifted a hand to rake his hair back and his pants started to slip. He swore under his breath and caught them in time, turned and closed them again.

Hermione's face changed as she watched Draco's back and Lucius' face changed as he watched her watch his son.

It was definitely a complicated situation and he suddenly felt all of his fifty two years and then some.

"No," Hermione remarked, turning her gaze to him. Her features softened as she looked at him, sitting up in his bed, a book in his lap. Even her scars seemed to diminish when she looked at either of them that way. "How are you, Lucius?" she asked and he shook himself.

"Fine," he said lightly. "Very tired. I was about to go to sleep," he added, with an emphasis on the I. Hermione flushed.

"Pardon me, then," she replied and began to duck back out. "I just thought I'd check in. I'll see you both in the morning-"

Lucius glared at his son and nodded shortly in the direction of the door. Draco frowned and glared right back. Well. It was nice to see his son still had some sort of backbone. The door clicked closed.

"Bloody hell, Dad," Draco replied. "You trying to humiliate me?"

"I rather thought I'd already done that these last eight years. I can't imagine it was pleasant having to wipe my ass for me."

Draco frowned and looked very much like he'd like to cry. He turned about again and started on the pants once more. Lucius sighed and was about to speak when Draco cut him off.

"I never minded that, Dad," he said quietly. "I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. It was…not having you around I missed. Not talking, even when we fought, I…" He paused, leaned on the dresser. "I'd do it all again," he ended firmly.

Lucius' eyes pricked with tears and he set his book aside, then slid down under the covers.

"I love you, Draco," he murmured and felt, rather than saw, his son turn about. Felt the tension leave the room.

"I love you too," Draco replied, his voice gruff. Lucius reached out a hand and turned out the light.

"We'll talk again in the morning, shall we?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Dad. Goodnight."

Lucius murmured his own goodnight and heard his son take a few shaky breaths. Waited for the sound of him crossing the darkened room and crawling into the other bed. But it never came. Instead, he heard his son's quiet footsteps and then a door opening and closing. The sound made him smile softly.

He rolled over, closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

* * *

Hermione was just heading down the stairs after pausing at the top and debating with herself about walking back in there. But she'd won that battle and was halfway down when she heard a door overhead open and then click shut again. She paused. Maybe one of them was just headed to the loo-

"Hermione?"

Guess not. She turned and looked up the stairs.

"Draco?"

"Yeah, it's me," he replied and jogged down the stairs, t-shirt half on, his pajama bottoms hastily pulled up, their drawstring untied.

"That offer for tea still on?" he asked and regarded her quietly in the dim light of the stairwell, his face illuminated by the light from downstairs, hers in shadow. His shirt was still stretched across his arms, ready to pull over his head, but he lowered his arms as the silence wound on for several seconds.

Hermione was finding it difficult to breathe, actually, which was why she hadn't answered him right away. His lean muscles gleaming dully, his face serious, but hopeful, his hair falling back into his eyes; and to have it all topped off by that intoxicating smell…why had she ever bought them one of her favorite scents? In the closeness of the stairwell she felt more than a little strange when having her senses assaulted by so much fucking…_stimuli_. Ugh.

There was definitely something wrong with her. She turned away as quickly as she could and hoped he wouldn't say anything about her pause.

"Of course you can have some tea," she replied quietly and continued down the stairs.

He stared after her, puzzled, but he followed a second later. "Thanks," he said, ducking his head as he finished coming down the stairs. He jogged ahead and held the door to the kitchen open for her.

She turned her head away as she passed him, but it didn't keep her from smelling him.

Bloody hell, she thought, and put the kettle back on the burner with more force than necessary. Draco watched her pull mugs and tea down and generally make noise, ignoring him quite effectively, before he spoke again.

"I should apologize for what I said earlier," he began and she shrugged. He frowned. "No, please. I do. I apologize. It was…I've just been upset this last week and I can't, I _shouldn't_, take it out on you."

She gave a wry laugh. "I'm used to people taking things out on me, Draco," she said. "That's nothing to apologize for. I should apologize for not receiving it all better."

"That's bollocks," he replied. "You're the one in charge here. My father and I are here at your pleasure. You need to own that," he said.

"I do, sometimes," she admitted and turned around. She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. "And then my friends get mad at me and eventually we all make up. But you're not my friend. You're in a very sensitive situation and I need to-"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Draco interrupted. "So I'm a little mental and my father is nearly a cripple, that doesn't make us made of fucking china, does it? You haven't hesitated to put my in my place before, but if you're treating me differently now that my dad is awake, or aware, or whatever you're calling it, I can tell you, there's no need. I can still take whatever you give me. I'm a grown man, for Merlin's sake," he finished with an angry toss of his head.

Hermione raised her brows at him and turned about to catch the tea kettle before it whistled. Honestly, she hadn't considered the situation that way. She'd been looking at it from her own perspective; that this was a new dynamic they all had to settle into; that Draco was as frustrated as she was; that they each felt the same stress she did. She'd never thought for a second that Draco might be feeling emasculated by all her small kindnesses and understanding. She wondered briefly if Lucius felt the same way and decided she'd better just ask him. After all, even if they were in her care, they weren't officially therapy patients. They were still reformed criminals, technically, and a lot tougher than she probably gave them credit for.

She turned back around and handed the second mug to Draco.

"I hadn't thought of it that way," she admitted aloud. "Thank you for telling me."

"Yes, well," he muttered and took the mug. He settled back against the island and watched her over the top of his mug. She was watching him right back. He looked away.

"Draco," Hermione began, "can I ask you something?"

He flushed and hoped she'd attribute it to the steam. "Go ahead."

"Well, your father said that thing about Zabini…and I haven't wanted to really bring it up again until I felt he was stronger. Do you know anything about that?"

He shook his head. "No. It surprised me, too. I imagine it's what must have set him off in the first place, that day, but…"

"But," Hermione prompted. He glanced at her.

"Zabini and I were never more than acquaintances, really. We weren't close friends. But we still associated, because our families were expected to. So it wasn't normal for him to visit the Manor, but it wasn't unusual, either. Does that make sense?"

"Perfectly."

Draco nodded, warming to the theme. "I've been thinking about it, since Dad brought it up, and I remember Zabini definitely came to visit us that fall. You'd been…well. Anyhow, he came to see us while his mother was on trial. I guess he hoped that by associating with us more our promising reputation would rub off some? I never quite figured it out. But the one person Blaise liked best of all was himself. He was worse than I was, even," Draco said with a small laugh. It wasn't a happy sound and Hermione didn't comment. Draco went on.

"The reason I'm mentioning it is because his visit was just a couple weeks before my parents went missing and then all the trouble started in earnest."

And something clicked for Hermione. She set her mug down and approached him. He looked down at her and shifted uncomfortably.

"Draco, you said this was in the fall."

"Yes," he replied. "Is that important?"

"It depends," she said slowly, "on when during the fall."

"October," he replied easily. "I remember that much. You don't forget the day you find your father dying and give up your mother for dead," he said darkly and stared into his mug.

Hermione was suddenly very glad she'd already put her mug down, considering the way her hands were now shaking. Of course, she thought. Why didn't I put two and two together? But just as quickly she told herself it wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible. And yet…she didn't even realize Draco was still talking, or that she was crying again, until he put his hands on her shoulders.

"Hermione?" His voice broke through the fog of memory and tears and she looked up at him, jaw set against the anger, eyes full of disbelief, body shaking under his touch. "Hermione, are you alright?"

"No," she whispered. "No." And she began to shake her head and then her shoulders and she collapsed against him with the weight of the discovery. It was impossible. It had to be. Everything couldn't be coming to a head, this long afterwards. It just wasn't _fair. _Not when they'd all tried so hard to survive and to build lives despite the pain…but then again, when had she ever truly believed she had succeeded in outrunning her demons?

Draco was very glad he'd pulled his shirt on, as he wasn't sure he could've held her this way if it had been her face against his bare chest, her breath on his skin. As it was, none of those feelings arose with his arms about her shoulders and her sobbing that way. That sort of sorrow killed any desire he could've had, except to make him want to murder whoever had done that to her in the first place. He wanted to injure the responsible parties in ways that before he'd only ever wanted to do to those who'd killed his mother and ruined his father. And still, he felt out of his element. Who would ever have dreamed he'd be holding Hermione Granger, one of the once Golden Trio, once his greatest enemies, in his arms and comforting her?

Not that he felt he was comforting her. And of course, the second he tightened his arms about her and tried to rub her back softly, she went stiff and pulled away. He let her go.

What else could he do? She was hurt in ways he didn't, would never, understand.

"I-" She stopped and wiped at her nose, then buried her face in her palms.

"Hey," Draco said. He knew that look. It was one that said, I'm sorry for crying. I should be stronger than this. You don't need to see this. It's my pain, no one else's. It was horse shit. He dared touch her again.

"Hey," he said again. "I don't mind." And to his surprise, he realized he didn't. As much as he didn't mind what he'd had to do for his father.

"Go away," she muttered through her fingers.

"Do you really want me to?" he asked her seriously.

There was a long moment where he could feel his heart beating its way from his chest, where every stifled sob she gave filled the whole house and echoed across the fields. And then, slowly, without saying a word or even shaking her head, she leaned into him again, her hands still covering her face. But it was enough. He slid his arms back around her shoulders and this time, when he rubbed her back gently, she didn't pull away.

* * *

**AN: I tell you what, if I was Hermione, in that house with both those men...whew! *fans herself* **


	22. Paralyze My Mind

**I don't own Harry Potter or make any money here. ...why am I doing this, again?**

**AN: I'm glad so many of you like my Author's Notes. I try so very, very hard to keep them entertaining. ;) What can I say? I'm just brilliant at everything, clearly. Also, Mella Potter totally made a fanvideo for me last night. You can see it by tagging this onto youtube: /watch?v=mttRnVKnB4g**

* * *

When Ginny didn't hear from Hermione again after two days, she finally broke down and called Harry.

Not to tell him what was going on, no. Just to talk, for once. Because she needed a friend and she sometimes forgot just how much she relied on Hermione. Harry answered her owl too quickly, like he'd been waiting for another chance to ambush her, but she let him come over when he suggested, anyhow.

She was pretty lonely, after all. At least, that's what she told herself forcefully while she spelled her legs smooth and put on some extra perfume. She dressed up when she went out with Hermione and her other girlfriends, didn't she? Yes, she did. So there was nothing unusual about- the doorbell rang and she jumped guiltily when she heard Zabini answer it. She rushed from her room to find Harry glaring at Zabini's retreating back.

"Ready?" Harry asked, though he wasn't really looking at her. He was watching the space where Zabini had been. She pasted a smile on her face.

"I'm ready. Harry? Hello, I'm over here," she said, giving a little wave and laughing nervously. Harry took in her short black skirt, black heels, and blue silk top with interest. Interest. Right.

He blinked a few times and then smiled slowly. "You look lovely," he finally said, then gestured back to the door. "Let's go. I have reservations."

"Reservations? Harry, I thought this was just casual- us, drinks, pub food-"

"Casual? And you dressed up like that? I don't think so," he replied and swept her out the door, locking it for her with a lazy sweep of his wand on the way out. Ginny began to regret her choice of dress. Harry sniffed at her some as he put an arm about her and led her down the street.

She suffered the arm. She wouldn't suffer the sniffing.

"Harry!"

"Sorry," he said quickly, but he was smiling again. "Have you cut back?"

"Smokes?" she clarified. "Yeah, maybe. Too many things to worry about. I don't have that much time to go buy a new carton every two days. So I cut back a bit."

"I can tell," he said and she raised a brow at him.

"I noticed," she said. "Is scent recognition part of the auror training these days?"

Harry frowned. "Never mind."

"You brought it up," Ginny pointed out. "So, er…how are things?"

Harry recovered his mood. "Wretched, without you," he said quite cheerfully. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"I was asking seriously."

"And I responded seriously. Here we are!" he announced and held open the door of a cab.

"Where are we going?" Ginny asked as she climbed in.

"Across town," he told her, climbing in beside her and then leaning forward to murmur an address to the driver. Ginny nodded and tried to watch the scenery as they passed, to guess where they were headed, but Harry kept her distracted with questions and stories of his own about work. It was already dark by the time the cab stopped and Ginny peered about, trying to figure out where they were. It looked like a residential neighborhood, but one never knew. There were plenty of ultra-posh establishments based in old homes around the city. Of course, if it was that upscale of a place, she really wished Harry would have told her sooner, because she could have dressed appropriately. Her attire now was more suited to a club- Harry tugged on her elbow.

"Hey, we're here. Coming in?" he said and motioned to the door he held open.

It was only once they were inside, after Ginny had blinked away the blindingly bright lights, that she realized what he'd done.

"Harry, I thought we were going out-"

"You are," he said smugly. "My flat is out, comparatively. And it's certainly a better choice than the pub. And," he added, now looking so smug that she wanted to wipe the floor with his face, "if you want to make it through dessert you'll have to put your cutting back to the test. So it's an all around win-win situation."

Ginny silently fumed the whole way up the elevator and down the hall. Harry paused before he slid the key in the door and looked her over.

"You don't have to come in," he finally allowed. "If it bothers you that much, you don't have to come in. We can just call it a night now, or head down the street to a pub, if you like."

Ginny relented. "It's fine," she bit off. "We're here now and I'm hungry. So just open the bloody door."

Harry gave her a small smile in return and then turned the key and pushed the door open. He ushered Ginny inside. She gave a little sound of surprise and turned to him.

"You redecorated."

"I did," he responded easily. "Rather, I gave Hermione the samples and she told me to bugger off repeatedly before finally pointing out the ones she liked for me."

"You always were persistent," Ginny murmured.

"Yes," he said shortly, then paused. He gave her a sidelong glance. "Would you like to see how persistent I can really be?"

"Not particularly," she shot back, but there was no venom in her voice. "So," she began as she looked at dark wood furniture and sparse wall decorations against a pale green paint. "When is dinner? And what, exactly, did you make? Because I don't fancy eating burnt toast. Unless you've gotten better since last I was over," she added with a smile in his direction.

He shrugged off his robes and gestured to the kitchen. "Take-out," he said. "And you know perfectly well I'm a fantastic cook. Not as good as Hermione, but I did have to make most of the meals at the Dursleys'." He frowned lightly. "As well you know."

Ginny only gave him another airy smile and waltzed past him. If he was going to pull tricks like this to get her alone, then she was going to prod him a bit as well. He deserved it, the condescending, wonderful smelling…Harry brushed past her to reach for some containers and she started to inhale deeply before she could stop herself.

He didn't say a word, just handed her a carton and then pointed at the breakfast nook.

"What, no candlelight, wine, or damask table linens?" she joked and he shrugged and carried the other cartons over, grabbing some silverware as he did.

"Don't want to scare you away, do I?" he murmured. "Besides, this is more cozy. Natural. Right?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and took a seat at the small corner table, then started to pry the lids off the cartons.

"Mousse!" she squealed. "And…more mousse?" She looked up at Harry.

"I couldn't remember which was your favorite," he replied. "So I got both flavors. The rest of the food is normal dinner fare, I swear," he added with a laugh.

Ginny inspected the other cartons and sure enough, there was some pasta; and another filled with some sort of chicken dish; and a third that had some dark, leafy greens in it. Together, Ginny and Harry dug in, did battle with their forks and spoons, and managed to have a comfortable evening of it. Food, some ale, some conversation…it was all very natural and it felt right to Ginny, for the first time in a long time. And yet…

"I wish Hermione were here," she said as she leaned back in her seat, patting her sated stomach. Harry gave her a mild glance.

"I wouldn't mind that, either. You could have invited her. Did she not want-"

"We're not speaking," Ginny said and somehow made the words sound as if they'd been capitalized and italicized.

Harry started to respond, picked up his bottle again and took another drink, then looked at her seriously for a moment as she rolled her head back and stared at the ceiling. He suddenly felt very stupid.

"So, thought you'd call me for a spot of company?" he said lightly, though his heart was pounding.

Ginny gave a guilty start and looked at him. He managed to keep his eyes on her, rather than stare at the table as he wanted to, and she finally sighed. Maybe it was time to try that truth thing Hermione was so fond of.

"It's not really like that, Harry. I mean, if I'm being honest. I tell myself that's all it is- that I'm lonely and miss Hermione, but I have other people I could have owled, you know?" She looked away, frowning, twisting her fingers together. "I just wanted…"

"So did you call me because you wanted me or because you wanted someone that reminded you of better times?" he asked gently.

Ginny gave him a sharp look. "You think I spend half my time with Hermione because she reminds me of better times?" she asked, voice incredulous. "Go to hell, Harry."

He raised his brows. "Then why do you spend so much time-"

"Because she knows!" Ginny exclaimed. "She knows how I feel, every day and she's surviving despite that- I don't have to be anyone else when I'm around her; I can be the broken, disgusting me I feel like inside, all the time. I don't have to hide anything, not the torture, or the scars, or the-" She stopped short, her face flushed, and looked away. Her hands were trembling.

"And yet what happened to me wasn't even as bad as what happened to her and she's on her own two feet- she's even off the pills now, did you know that? And I'm still addicted to these damned fags- but she doesn't care. She's the only one who lets me have any of that and never questions it," she finished fiercely. "And even when we argue or fight, it's never about that." It's always about you, she added silently.

Harry stared at her, his eyes sad, and Ginny frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," he said. "I'm sorry you don't feel you can be yourself around me."

"It's not your fault," she said uncomfortably. "You're a man. I'll never be able to just be myself around you."

"That's not your fault, either," he replied. She looked away and gnawed on her lower lip some.

"It feels like it. Everyday, it feels like it. If I'd acted more quickly, if I'd sent for help right away, instead of letting them overtake me-"

"Ginny, stop it."

"I can't!" she suddenly wailed. "How do you get over knowing that if you'd just done that one extra thing then your best friend wouldn't have taken to her own face with a carving knife and your brother would still be alive?"

"Ginny, stop-"

And then she was sobbing, hunched over the table, face in her hands; and Harry was at her side in a second, hoisting her into his arms, holding her as she cried.

"You think I don't blame myself?" he whispered as he held her, rocked her. "I blame myself every second. But it's not our fault. Those men made a choice, too," he said fervently. "You can't blame yourself for their sick decisions. Oh, Ginny…shh, please don't. Please…"

Minutes later, when her sobs had finally subsided to hiccups; and after several attempts to wipe her nose without Harry noticing; she crawled from his lap and stood on unsteady feet, surveying the ground. She put one hand through her hair, ignoring the way Harry's sad, green eyes followed her every move.

"Merlin, I need a smoke," she said. She gave a wretched laugh. "I guess that's my cue to leave, right?"

Harry stood up, reached for her hands. Captured them despite her efforts. He shook his head.

"No, Ginny. I'm not going to send you away. Not tonight."

At the tone of his voice, she dared look up at him. And there he was, all serious, sparking eyes, tousled, unruly hair, and long and lean and she felt something pull at her.

"Harry," she began in a voice as shaky as her legs, "this isn't a good idea."

He moved closer, slid his hands from hers to her waist instead, tugging her to him. She bit her lip as their hips bumped together. Half of her wanted to run screaming and never return. The other half…

"Why don't," Harry answered, his voice dangerously quiet, "you let me decide that? And at the first sign that you don't want any of it, I'll take you home."

Ginny swallowed hard. Lord, she needed a cigarette. She really, truly needed one as if her life depended on it- and then Harry's lips covered hers.

* * *

Three days after Hermione's ultimatum to Ginny, she found herself leaving the house very early, even before Draco had risen to do the chores- before the sun was fully up. But it wasn't like she'd been sleeping, anyway.

She'd been sitting on the information about Zabini and Lucius, was what she'd been doing; not even writing Harry, or calling him. She'd had to let the idea sink in before she could even contemplate telling someone else, it was so shocking in its reality. Even her cry on Draco's shoulder hadn't helped her any. It had only sent her into a spiral of circular thinking and morbid outcomes. And now that she'd been over it and confirmed the dates in her own files with those in the Malfoys'? She still wasn't sure what she wanted, but if she needed to do even more thinking before everyone else was up and another rigorous day had begun, then among her horses was the perfect place to do it.

The barn was quiet in the early morning. Even though the birds had already begun to sing, outside, and sounds of muffled hooves on straw and gentle snorts greeted her inside, those sounds were secondary to the peace she felt upon entering. She could have been as she was two weeks before; with no house guests, and no unusual feelings. Just herself, her horses, and her nightmares.

She shook her head. This was definitely an improvement. Even if it was really too early for what she was about to do. She came to one of her favorite mare's stalls and knocked lightly on the door. There was a sudden rustle and some grunting from inside and a moment later Echo's head appeared over the edge of the door. She tossed her silvery mane in greeting and Hermione stroked her hand down her forelock.

"Hey, girl. Fancy an early morning trail ride?" She laughed quietly as Echo nudged her hand and snorted her agreement. "I know, I've been neglecting you all. I'm sorry, girl."

Echo tossed her head again, as if to say, who care? You're here now. Hermione laughed again and then hugged her neck before opening the door and leading her out. She clipped the line to her and brushed her down some before settling the blanket and saddle in place.

"Come on, girl," she murmured as she tightened the girth. "There you are. How does that feel?"

"Rather uncomfortable, I imagine," came a soft voice from behind her. Echo stamped some and Hermione whirled about, then collapsed against the door when she saw who it was.

"Lucius," she breathed and bent at the knees, catching her breath. "You scared me."

"That used to be one of my prized skills," he replied. "It's good to know I still have it."

Hermione jerked her head up and frowned at him, before breaking into more laughter. Lucius was smiling slightly as well, though his cheeks were tinged pink and he seemed slightly out of breath. But he was walking without help and leaning on the cane she'd bought him. He was dressed, too. That meant-

"Draco is on his way. When he saw your boots missing he insisted I come out and check on you." He favored her with a piercing stare and she looked away and continued to fiddle with the saddle.

"Well, now you see me. I'm perfectly alright." She turned about again. "I'm just going for a ride," she said, reaching for her helmet.

"Isn't that…dangerous?" Lucius asked slowly, eyeing the mare. "I seem to recall rules about always having a partner."

"Are you offering?" she shot back. He raised a brow at her. "Didn't think so," she said sweetly. "Neither of you has to worry. I'm not going far and Harry set some clever spells for me a long time ago."

"I see. So you haven't really given up magic at all," Lucius murmured. Hermione frowned and unclipped the lead, then looped the reins about her hand. She clucked to Echo, who turned and started to follow her mistress.

"There's nothing wrong with taking advantage of something that will keep you safe," Hermione said over her shoulder when she realized Lucius was hobbling along behind them.

"No, I suppose not. But wouldn't you rather-"

His words were drowned out by the side door screeching open. And then Hermione had one foot in the stirrup, lifted herself quite easily into the saddle, and was gone.

Lucius stared after her, watching the way her back straightened as she rode, and the even set of her shoulders. He narrowed his eyes. Only when Draco announced his arrival did he finally turn away from the image of Hermione riding towards the rising sun, with the horizon a gently curving line before her.

"Yes?"

"I said, if you're not too busy staring out the doorway like a log, could you help me with this?" Draco replied, waving a hand full of leads. "What were you looking at, by the way?"

"Miss Granger," Lucius said, opening a stall door and gesturing to a reluctant horse. Draco watched him struggle with the prancing steed for a few minutes before he intervened. He walked pat his father and into the stall, slid the line neatly over the horse's head, and patted him on the neck a few times.

"There you are," he said and then held the other end out to his father. Lucius stared at it like it was a snake.

"I think I'd be better used for supervising," he said with as much dignity as possible and Draco hid his smile and shrugged.

"Alright. This won't take more than a minute, anyhow. Hermione, you said? So she's out here?"

"Was," his father replied. "She's gone for a ride."

"I see." Draco looked at his father and frowned. "Scare her off?"

Lucius would have rolled his eyes if it was dignified. Instead he settled for a displeased toss of his head. "Impertinence never suited you."

"But I learned from the best," Draco responded readily.

"You learned from your mother," Lucius said before he thought about it. Both of them froze and Draco turned slowly to stare at his father.

They hadn't talked about Narcissa at all, between them. It was an understood taboo. And yet here his father had gone off and referenced her as if it were nothing. As if none of the pain associated with her demise existed. For his part, Lucius looked stricken, and more sorry than Draco thought he'd ever felt, personally.

"Dad, it's ok," he began, but Lucius waved a hand, and turned and walked out the side door through which Hermione had disappeared minutes before. Draco watched him go, his heart squeezed tight within his chest. The horse he was leading bumped his head into Draco's shoulder and he turned to look at him.

"Alright, alright," he murmured, reaching up and running a hand over the stallion's crest. The horse bent his head some and whinnied softly. "I know. Come on, then." And with a final glance back at his father's retreating form, Draco led the horse from the barn and continued about his morning chores.

* * *

**AN: I hope you all liked that chapter. I'm starting to agonize over the smallest details, which is never good. *pulls her hair out* **


	23. Then Touch My Tears

**I don't own Harry Potter, blah, blah. Blah.**

**AN: OMG. *squees like a fangirl* This thing is ridiculously long, but it effing delivers. Oh, man, does it deliver. And no, Ginger love, Mella Potter is not replacing you. *sigh* But I have to have some back-up muses, don't I? ;)**

* * *

When Draco was all done at the barn, he paused by the side doors and watched his father's sentry-like figure for a few quiet moments. Then, as the pails grew heavy in his hands, he hefted them up again and called out.

"Dad? I'm heading back. Coming?"

Lucius didn't respond and Draco knew that he was lost in his thoughts and, most likely, his guilt. Not that he truly believed his father had anything to feel guilty over, except perhaps those first early years under Voldemort. When he could have, and should have made different choices. But it was very difficult to shake one's upbringing. Nature versus nurture. Or perhaps what he and his family had gone through was closer to threat of death versus honorable intentions. He snorted and turned away, shaking his head slightly. There was nothing he could do for his father's twisted thoughts except continue to love him and be there for him; to make sure he knew that Draco would rather be dead than lose him again.

With a small, weary sigh, he started out of the barn, leaving Lucius behind him, still waiting and watching for someone who would never come back to either of them.

* * *

Out on the trail that wound its gentle way about her fields and hills, Hermione felt like she could think clearly for the first time in weeks. Her mind had been clouded by false scents, by the press of men's arms about her shoulders, by the weight of how much others were depending on her when she could barely depend on herself. In the last two weeks, her whole life had been upended and she'd taken it all without a word, and perhaps a bit more crying than normal. That wasn't entirely healthy, when it came down to it, she thought. She should have been having fits and throwing more dishes and putting her foot down when it came to her privacy and her knowledge. And instead she'd let herself be swayed from the very beginning. First, by Ginny and her therapist into signing on for the program in the first place; second, by Harry into allowing more spells into her home, filling her senses and pulling at her heart strings; third, by Lucius and Draco both by, well. Whatever it was they were doing. Worming their way into her heart and mind like the poor, pathetic strays they were. It made her angry, now that she thought about it all properly. She didn't need this, damn it! She didn't need the burden of their recovery on her head, or Ginny's issues, or Zabini's guilt. She didn't care about any of those things-

Echo began to prance nervously under her and Hermione sighed and forced the tension from her fingers and the reins.

"I'm sorry, girl," she murmured. "You've been so good this morning. I promised a ride, not a therapy session. You're right. Shh, easy, easy…"

Echo slowed and finally stopped, allowing Hermione to lean over her neck and stroke her skin, her mane. She whinnied a question and Hermione smiled.

"Of course. You're hungry now, aren't you? Come on, then. Let's head back. Thanks for putting up with me." Echo snorted and Hermione laughed. "Is that so? You want a run? Come on, faster, girl-"

And bunching herself up over the mare's neck, she said the word and Echo's haunches gathered and then propelled her forward like a flash.

Hermione felt the wind rushing past her face as she urged her horse forward, over the green hills and through the small stands of trees lining the trail. The sun flashed between the branches and she suddenly felt very alive and free. This is best, she told herself. This is always best…

* * *

Back in London, Ginny wandered out of her bedroom, her hair mussed and her eyes still squinting with weariness. But she hadn't been able to sleep any longer. Not with those dreams she'd been having of Harry, after their date the other night. He'd kissed her- they'd only kissed- and then…humph. Then she'd pushed him away and told him she needed to go home. But not because she still wanted a cigarette. No, his lips had stung hers and left her wanting more and that's why she'd had to go. Because no matter what her heart was telling her with its frantic beating; or her body was telling her with its slow heat; she wasn't ready to move on. Not all the way, not yet. And that's what her head had told her quite firmly, although his kisses had killed any desire for a cigarette. She couldn't smoke after that. Not when his earthy, spicy smell was all over her from his arms around her; and her mouth tasted like the mousse, ale and the cinnamon she would forever associate with him.

Of course, neither could she tell him about Zabini like Hermione wanted her to. Not when he'd held her so tenderly and clearly loved her so…what would it do to that new, fragile trust, to let him know that she'd been holding back important information? Would the mistrust fall back into place? Or would he understand her reasons? She somehow doubted it. So, it was much easier to ignore that little part of her conscience and just let him kiss her pleasantly, wiping her fears away until the morning when he was no longer there…

The last vestiges of her peace vanished, however, when she opened the kitchen door to find Zabini standing there, cooking something and looking quite upset.

"What's got you so pissed?" she grumbled and reached for the tea. She eyes it warily, wishing Zabini would make coffee, for once. Hermione knew how to make a good cup of coffee. Hermione…she sighed and set the mug back down and crossed her arms. Merlin, how she wanted to talk to her.

Zabini eyed her. "I'm hardly pissed," he remarked. "I heard you moving about and got up as well. I imagine it's just my natural morning face you're seeing right now."

Ginny tried not to gape at him. "Was that your attempt at a joke?"

He shrugged and then turned and dumped some ham and eggs onto a plate on the counter. "Those are for you," he said. "If you want them."

"You're learning to cook," she replied and picked at a piece of ham, sniffing at it carefully before taking a small bite.

"I got tired of your endless cold salads," he responded.

"I do make those an awful lot, don't I?" she said wryly. "Sorry."

"And I hate seafood," he went on. "So it was learn to cook some basics or go hungry."

"I didn't know you hated shellfish," she replied.

"Not just shellfish. Any kind of fish. Blech," he said and turned back to the stove. Ginny stifled a grin.

"So you're coming to terms with being here?"

"I hardly have a choice, do I?"

"That's true enough," she allowed. They were both quiet for a minute while Ginny ate and Blaise cooked. But his shoulders remained tense and after a few seconds he spoke again.

"That doesn't mean I like it here, or want to stay," he said. "I still plan on leaving as soon as I can."

"That's up to the Wizengamot," Ginny replied. "Not me."

"I know that," he said sharply. "But if…" His voice trailed off. Ginny decided to prod him.

"If what, Zabini?"

"If the Malfoys can do so well for themselves, why shouldn't I? That's what this system is in place for, right?"

Ginny raised her brows. "They're both recovering, but I never said they were doing well. Hermione hasn't any more idea what will happen to them than I do with you." She paused. "Or was that just your way of fishing for more information?"

He snorted. "Like I care what the Malfoys do."

"Oh, come off it. Of course you care. You prowl about my flat, listening in on every conversation, dropping mysterious hints about something you know- something to do with me and Hermione- and then you go asking about the Malfoys every chance you get. What is it, Zabini? What do they know about you that you don't want me to know about?"

"I have no idea-"

"Oh yes, you do," Ginny replied. "Don't think I didn't see they way you tensed up last week when I told you where I was going. The last thing you wanted me to do was spend time at Hermione's, chatting with the Malfoys. You're afraid of something, something they know that could hurt you. Well let me tell you this much," she hissed, shoving her plate out of the way and leaning over the counter, her brow dark with anger. "Whatever you know, I will find out, and I won't stop until I've dragged every last shard of truth from your broken body. Because you may think let bygones be bygones, and that your good behavior now pardons whatever your past sins may have been, but you're wrong. We deserve the truth. It's our right, damn you! Hermione and I have lived every day of the last eight years looking over our shoulders, scared out of our minds and with scars on our bodies that won't let us forget a single bloody thing. My own brother died because of what happened under the hands of those Death Eaters and so help me, if you had anything to do with it, anything at all, you're a fucking dead man, Blaise Zabini." She crowded his space and put her face inches from his. Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "A dead man," she hissed again.

Then, her body trembling with emotion, she turned and left the room. Blaise watched her go with wide eyes, his face contorted with something between anger and fear, himself. Only the smell of his breakfast burning to the bottom of the pan pulled him from his stunned position and he turned to attack it savagely with the spatula. The sound of a door slamming minutes later made him jump, and he looked to the kitchen door again, but the rest of the apartment remained quiet and quite empty for the better part of the day.

Somehow, he wasn't sure any longer if that was a good thing, or not.

* * *

Lucius leaned against the outside of the barn, wishing for the first time that rather than sulking about his wife he'd followed his son back to the house. The sun was fully risen by now and it was beating down upon his head and his legs, though much stronger than they'd been, were starting to feel stiff from all the standing. Still, he stayed where he was, waiting for…what?

Hermione crested the hill and he let out a small sigh. So. That was what he'd been waiting for. Proof she was alright, after all. He'd feel ashamed at his concern for her, except now he was quite aware that his son crept down the stairs every night to stand outside her door and listen for signs of life. If such dependence on her was good enough for his son, it was good enough for him, too. Besides, he owed her his life, such as it was, and his son's happiness. If that's what Draco's tentative smiles and sidelong glances at her meant.

Hermione pulled Echo up short of the doors and was about to dismount when she saw Lucius standing there, still leaning on his cane.

"Oh," she said. "Hello."

"Hello," he replied.

"Er…" She dismounted and gathered the reins, patting Echo's neck as she did. "That a good run, girl? Yes, you were wonderful. Oh, you're a beauty. Look at you."

She continued to croon at her as she led her just inside the doors and Lucius followed, leaning in the open doorway. He watched as she removed the bridle and slid a halter and lead on in its place, then began taking off the saddle and other accoutrements. She took a towel and wiped the mare down, then brushed her again, and checked her tail for burs. Lucius imagined it was very soothing work to the horse. He also could see why Hermione had taken to his condition so readily.

"I'm not much different from them, am I?" he asked and she turned, brush still in hand.

"Pardon?"

He smiled gently. "I said-"

"I heard you."

"Yes, I rather suspected you had."

She scoffed and then turned back to Echo, who started to toss her head and push against Hermione in impatience.

"Fine, you want to go out now? Alright, come on." Hermione led the cream colored horse back out of the barn and headed for the paddock. She didn't have to look behind her to know that Lucius had decided to follow and was struggling to keep up, despite his legs being longer than hers. The cane was slowing him down, she knew. With a small effort, she pulled the gate open, called to the other horses to stay put, and then led Echo inside. Then she walked back out and pushed the gate back into place. Lucius gave her a thoughtful look and she stared back at him.

"What?"

"You still have your helmet on," he said as he made his way to stand at the gate beside her.

"Oh-" She put her hand up, felt the headgear still sitting there and flushed. She started to reach up her other hand and deal with the chin strap, but Lucius stopped her.

Shocked her, really.

"Let me," he murmured, leaning his cane against the fence and reaching his own hands up. His fingers beneath her jaw were gentle; and if she felt her nerve endings alight where those long digits brushed her skin, she chalked it up to the adrenaline left over from the morning's ride. It had nothing to do with his proximity or the fact that she'd seen him nearly naked twice now, or run her own hands along his body.

Her breath came shorter and Lucius lifted the helmet away, sending her a strange glance as he did so. But instead of leaving it at that; he turned and balanced the helmet on a fencepost; then turned his hands back to her; smoothing out her hair where it had gotten stuck to the inside of the headgear and pulled free from her braid.

She couldn't tell if she was breathing at all, by that point, and her cheeks felt incredibly hot. Lucius was looking at her so seriously; really looking at her, and she suddenly felt as small and insignificant as she had that time second year, in the bookstore, when he'd turned that icy gaze on her…

Lucius tucked the last strand of wayward hair back down and behind her ear and he was just bringing his hand forward when his fingertips brushed that scarred half of her face. Her eyes fluttered shut at the touch and he hesitated.

He barely knew what he was doing- just that she'd looked so vulnerable as she'd stood there, fussing with her helmet; and he'd suddenly seen her as she'd been that night when he'd forced Zabini to lead him- himself and his wife- to that dark, abandoned cottage not far from their estate. He wanted to help her now as badly as he'd wanted to help her then. But how could he? He was a middle-aged man with a terrible past and even his attempt at helping her the first time had blown up so badly in his face.

He started to pull his hand away and Hermione's eyes flashed open as she reached up a hand and grabbed his, then held it to her face. There was a question in her eyes, but he had no idea what it was, or how to answer it. And then the light he'd seen in those brown orbs disappeared and she dropped his hand like it burned her.

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to speak, found she couldn't, and turned and started to walk away. But she stopped again, turned back and grabbed her helmet- ducking her head to hide her face from him- and finally walked off quickly, back to the barn.

Lucius looked down at his hands for a full second, momentarily lost. Echo stuck her head over the fence and nickered at him. He looked up at the horse and frowned. Echo bared her teeth. He stumbled some, then reached for his cane and started away before the mare could let him know what she really thought of him.

Echo looked after him, wondered why he hadn't offered her any carrots, and then, with a toss of her head, pranced off to join the other mares.

* * *

Hermione paused just inside the door of the barn, then stumbled further forward when she heard the clunk-thump rhythm of Lucius' steps behind her. She rounded the corner and rested for a minute against the nearest stall, feeling the comforting nudge of another horse's nose against her neck and the solid wood beneath her fingers as she let the helmet thunk to the floor. She turned and stepped into the stall, wrapping her arms about the filly's neck and burying her face in the hay-scented mane.

"Oh, god," she muttered. "I'm such an idiot. What is wrong with me?"

The horse didn't have any answers, but neither did Hermione. If she wasn't having inappropriate feelings for Draco, then she was having them for his father. Was it just that she missed human contact? Was that it? Or was it that she specifically missed having a man to hold, to bury her face in his neck and let him run his fingers through her hair? She'd thought that part of her was long dead. After all, she'd never been able to let Ron hold her that way again- not that he'd been able to bring himself to want to, either. And those few times with Harry had been more accidents born of necessity than anything else, like real attraction, or chemistry. And yet just now, with such an innocent touch, she felt like her whole face was aflame and that she'd been _this _close to his touch igniting the rest of her.

She felt like a wanton, disgusting slag of a woman. She nuzzled the filly, who nuzzled her in return, and inhaled more deeply. Anything to get the smell of that aftershave out of her nostrils. She was so lost in her thoughts and shame that she didn't notice the sound of approaching footsteps, or their corresponding taps of a cane.

The hand fell on her shoulder with great gentleness, but it scared the living daylight out of her anyway; in turn frightening the horse, who whinnied and pranced away; leaving her sprawled in the hay and scrambling away from whatever beast it was who was after her.

"Miss Granger," Lucius said, leaning heavily on his cane and stretching out a hand. "I apologize. It's only me."

Her breath caught and she started to take his hand, only to remember what his touch had done to her before. Color flooded her face and she pulled her hand back, then covered her face and leaned against the wall of the stall, still sitting there in the straw. The filly sniffed at Lucius, who reared back some, but gingerly let the horse inspect him anyway. Then she leaned over and sniffed at Hermione, nudging her again. Hermione reached her hand up to the horse's mane and pet her a few times, one hand still covering her eyes.

Finally, after several seconds of silence, and once her breathing had evened again, she put a hand to the wall and stood up. She pet the horse again, but didn't look to Lucius.

"Miss Granger-"

"I rather think we've moved past that, haven't we?" she said quietly.

"Hermione, then."

She dared look at him, give him a timid smile. His grey eyes- just like his son's, only far more sad- peered at her steadily in the dim light of the stall.

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Are you looking for my forgiveness? For such a mundane act?" she asked snidely and he inclined his head.

"I suppose not. But for all my other sins, yes. I dare ask your forgiveness."

"Other sins? You mean trying to kill me and my friends time after time? Defecting like cowards, only when it was clear your side was losing?"

Lucius looked pained, but he tried to straighten his shoulders. "Yes."

Hermione favored him with a long look before she spoke.

"I don't care about those things."

"Then what do you care about?"

She pursed her lips, looked away again.

"What do you know about me?"

It was his turn to stand silently and he leaned his head back against the wall, casting it into shadow. She prompted him again and he only lowered his eyes to hers, then looked away again.

"Is it important?"

"You thought it was important enough to tell me to stay away from Zabini. It was important enough to pull you out of your coma and force you to deal with your pain."

"You're the one who's making me deal with that," he corrected her quietly and she dared take a step towards him.

"That's right. And now it's your turn. If you really want to pay me back, to make up for everything, you'll tell me what you know. I haven't wanted to push you, but you seem well enough, in all honesty. So what is it? Tell me. I deserve to know."

"Yes, you do," he murmured. "But I'm not sure you really want to know…Hermione."

"I do," she replied, taking another step. "I'm a grown woman. And yes, it's going to be painful, and messy, the truth coming out after all this time, but it's better than this half life we're all living. Isn't it? Isn't the truth always better?"

"No," he replied quite simply. "It isn't. But I suppose if you want to know it, then I've no right to keep it from you."

"No," she shot back, "you don't. You don't have any rights."

Another pained look crossed his face and he grimaced. Hermione immediately felt bad.

"That came out wrong," she said. "I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant," he responded, gritting his teeth. A wave of pain overtook him and his knees gave out, leaving him staggering; trying to gain his footing with his cane, that slipped and slid on the straw of the stall floor. Hermione moved forward and caught him under his arms and he sagged against her for a moment as the pain passed, leaving a dull ache behind.

"I thought that was getting better," she muttered, struggling to keep him upright. "You've been on your feet half the morning though, haven't you? Damn it, Lucius-"

"I'm fine-" he tried to rasp out, but winced even as she propped him up against the wall, holding him there with her body; while she grasped at the hand holding his cane, tightening his fingers about it.

"You're not bloody fine, you big ninny," she responded and felt him give a gasping laugh. The motion of his chest heaving against hers, his stomach muscles rippling with laughter, sent all sorts of strange feelings sparking down her body. But he still wasn't standing and she couldn't back away-

His hand came up to her face again, brushing the ruined skin there.

"You didn't have these, before," he breathed and she frowned, tried to pull her face away, but realized that she couldn't without also letting him slide to the ground. And it was best to wait out the damned cramps.

Fuck.

"No," she replied. Might as well make some bloody conversation. Maybe then he'd be more willing to talk. And it wasn't exactly a secret that she had those facial scars, was it? "Gave them to myself," she grunted, wedging a leg between his to better support him. "Do you think you could make it out to a bench?" she asked.

He groaned in pain again and tried to move. He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. Just let me-"

"Damn it, there's a young horse in here with us, Lucius, and she's very sweet tempered, but it's a bad idea to just let you lie here where she could trample you."

"Not such a bad idea, surely?" he managed to ask and she frowned and would've smacked him if she'd had an extra hand. He saw her face and looked away, rolling his eyes upwards before squeezing them shut again. "Why?" he asked and it took her a minute to realize what he meant.

She wanted to drop him and leave him there to rot with that question. More than she'd ever wanted to murder her therapist for dragging the truth from her. But it's healthy, her therapist's voice said mockingly in her head. It's healthy to tell the truth.

The truth could go to hell in a hand basket right then.

"Does it matter?" she retorted as another cramp passed.

"It- matters-" he gasped in return and when she met his eyes, she knew he meant it. Whatever else he'd done or seen, he meant that much.

She made sure she stared him straight in the eye when she told him. It was the only way to make sure they believed you.

"Because every day and every night for five and a half months, Death Eaters tortured Ron until he was too weak to resist the Imperious curse; and then sent him in to torture me, because they didn't want to dirty their own hands by touching my filthy, mudblood flesh. And after it was over, he'd come to himself and hate himself and beg me to forgive him and say that he was glad that at least he'd known me enough not to touch my face. At least he could still see me, looking out at him from the beautiful face he loved," she said, so intent that she didn't notice that the cramping had finally passed; and that Lucius lay against the wall, body inert beneath hers as she pressed against him.

"And so I endured," she went on, her voice breaking. "Because I loved him and I thought, if we can get through this, if we can just get through this, then we'll make it. We'll be able to make it anywhere. And it was better, wasn't it, that it was him doing those things to me, than the two strangers who pet Ginny and pretended she was their personal, pureblood toy. And I thought we had made it, you see," she said. Tears gathered in her eyes, even as her face was set and hard. "We escaped and we received treatment and we even moved in together. But he never touched me again. Not that way. Not the way I wanted him to. And finally I woke up one morning and found that he'd hung himself during the night." Her face crumpled and she finally broke eye contact with him, lowering her head and laying it against his chest. He dared to move and reached one hand up to rest it gently on her back.

"He killed himself!" she said again, her voice muffled, but no less heartbreaking. "And what did I have left, but mindless days of wondering why, until Harry finally decided I deserved to see the note he'd left, that I'd missed in my panic, in my grief, and the aurors had collected…" Her voice trailed off and sobs took its place.

"And what did it say?" Lucius asked, not looking at her, his voice quiet, his hand warm and reassuring.

"It said that he couldn't live with it all anymore, knowing that even though I looked the same, I wasn't, not really. And that he'd given me those scars that he couldn't see, but knew were there just the same. And he said he hoped that with him gone, that one day my insides would heal to match my face, because he thought I was still beautiful, despite it all, and he loved me, so he had to leave in order to save me."

There was a long silence, punctuated by a few shuddering sobs. Lucius laid his head back against the stall's wall and wasn't surprised to feel the tears streaming down his cheeks.

Hermione spoke once more. "I had a few weeks of peace after that," she admitted. "Where I planned out quite calmly what I ought to do. I was going to kill myself, too, you see. But I missed Ginny's owl telling me she was planning on coming over that night. So she found me, marking myself up in the bathroom, blood all over the tiles. It really felt quite lovely," she finished in a whisper. "Before the reality and the pain set in. It was like…I'd finally let something go."

Her sobs wore into quiet gasps and Lucius felt her shift against him, no doubt trying to wipe her face, her nose. His fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt.

He rather thought Ron sounded like a bloody ponce. But then again, he'd seen him, too, that night. Knew he was just as defeated as the others. Not even Draco had known that kind of desperation under the tutelage of Voldemort. Not even he, himself had known it. And yet, to leave Hermione, a woman he claimed to love, to deal with those sorts of memories by herself and the added guilt of Weasley's suicide…

His hand jerked on her shirt and she lifted her head.

"What can I do?" he asked.

She froze, her eyes full of pain and he inclined his head towards her, as if getting closer to her lips would let him hear her thoughts.

"Tell me," he said. "Please."

She came back to herself and realized the episode was past; and that they were firmly entangled with one another; pressed to the wall of a stall in which a filly was watching them with great interest. She shook her head slightly.

"Nothing. Except tell me the truth."

"And that will make things better?" he asked searchingly, his eyes boring into hers.

"No," she admitted, her voice hoarse from the tears. "Probably not. But at least we'll know."

Things besides the smell of horses and hay and sweat began to creep past both their noses- his aftershave, her shampoo and body wash. His hand tightened on the roll of fabric at her back and they stared at each other for a very long second.

"Lucius-" she began, meaning it to be a warning, but it came out more breathy than she'd intended; and she only had a split second of seeing his pupils dilate and his eyes narrow; before she realized what was about to happen.

* * *

**AN: Evil Margot is evil. *rubs hands together* **


	24. Nothing More to Say

**I still don't own HP. Bloody hell.**

**AN: The reactions to the Hr/L have been varied, which makes me chortle with authoring delight. How I love toying with your emotions. Heheheh. Oh, I mean, I'm sorry and there will be Dramione eventually. ;)**

**Also, I have been listening to a lot of Dixie Chicks lately and have to forcefully remind myself they are on an English farm here, as they are British, and not in Oklahoma. XD**

* * *

It felt like her first kiss. His lips were warm, and damp with his tears; but they were so gentle and searching; as if he was asking her, with his mouth, what she wanted from him…from life.

It felt like the first kiss she'd never had, but always wanted; when she'd dreamed of such things as a girl. When she'd imagined what her hero would look like, and how they would meet, and what he would be like. And right now, Lucius was meeting her mouth in a tender, chaste dance that lit up her whole body as he'd been in danger of doing earlier.

His hand across her back, pressing her to him. The smell of him filling her nose, racing into her lungs. It was as good as her morning ride, as good as flying across the ground on the back of a horse. As good as casting her first spell.

It was that thought made her pull away, stumble back from him and hit the opposite wall of the stall. The filly next to her wandered over and nudged her in the side. She reflexively put a hand on the horse's head and stared across the way at Lucius.

"Oh, god," she whispered.

Lucius was pale, his face still damp with the tears he'd cried for her, but he held his head up. He wouldn't apologize for it. Such things happened, in moments of extreme emotion. They were natural, even if they weren't always right.

Then again, she didn't care if he apologized or not. "I…do you…" She closed her eyes, ran her hand along the filly's neck. Bit her lips. No, that was a bad idea.

Lucius watched the emotions play across her face while he gathered himself. While his breathing returned to normal and he cautiously straightened himself, leaning on his cane once more. Hermione took a deep breath and opened her eyes again and this time, when they met Lucius', she didn't falter.

"Do you need help getting out of here?"

He shook his head. "I find I am quite recovered," he replied softly.

"Good," she said, taking more deep breaths. "Good."

"I thought I might sit in the barn a bit longer before heading back to the house," he added, watching her closely for her reaction.

Her eyes brightened. "That's a good idea. Do you need me to stay?"

"I am merely sitting, Hermione," he said. "Not planning a second wave."

She flushed and started to say something, then seemed to think better of it. She glanced away.

"I'll come check on you if we don't see you in another half hour," she finally offered.

Lucius gave her a small, condescending smile. "Perhaps you'd better send Draco, instead."

"Don't be rude," she retorted. "I think I can trust myself to fight you off next time."

"Does that mean you are hoping there's a next time?" Lucius said, his voice low.

She glanced at him sharply. "Of course not." She looked away again. "It's just…living the way we are at the moment, unwanted feelings are understandable."

"I'm glad you can take that attitude," he replied. "It's the only healthy one available."

"And what do you know about healthy choices, Lucius?" she asked, finally exploding from the silent tension of it all. The filly stamped her feet, letting them know she was displeased and Hermione sighed with exasperation before walking to the door, grabbing Lucius' arm and propelling them both from the stall. She turned to pull the door closed.

"You, who hid inside a shell for eight bloody years, forcing your son to make poor choices and keep on the run, when you could have just as easily told the truth about what happened that night and saved us all loads of trouble!" She turned on him and he did his best not to glare at her in return, but damn, it was difficult. Especially when, to his shame, he still wanted to do something about the permanent heartache he could see in her eyes.

"Nothing about that situation was easy," he ground out in return and she only squeezed his arm tighter and then forced him onto the nearby bench.

"Don't you dare tell me what was and was not easy about that situation," she hissed at him. "It was hell and now I find out there were people who _knew_? Who bloody knew, and didn't do anything?"

"I didn't know!" he roared back up at her with a controlled anger. "Not until that night! And my wife died to save your life. While I was crawling in horrific pain on the floor from some damned curse, she lost her own life! That night drove me out of my mind, you damned witch- don't tell me that I knew and did nothing- I knew and I gave _everything _to save you."

Hermione gasped and let go of him, as he stared up at her defiantly from the bench. She covered her mouth, tried to speak, and gave a violent heaving motion instead. So, the emotion had caught up with her. She gave him one more anguished look and then turned and ran. He started to get up, to call after her…but what was the use?

He had no chance with her. He didn't want a chance with her. He'd loved his wife and he would until the day he died.

Which he hoped was sooner, rather than later. Even now, remembering the kiss, he knew he'd lowered his mouth those last centimeters because she'd reminded him so of Narcissa. That expression of sorrow, supported by bitter determination in the face of unspeakable horrors; that will to outlast everything. The desire for better, for change. He'd seen all those things cross his beloved's face, time and again. And so was it any wonder, when faced with them again, he'd tried to gather the ghost of Narcissa to him once more? Especially considering her legacy lived on in this witch, that she'd given everything to set Hermione and her friends free from complete and abject misery?

No, he told himself, resting his head against the wall again. It was no wonder at all. But he'd be lying if he said it hadn't set his pulse racing, just the same.

He felt very, very old.

* * *

Ginny pounded on the front door , calling for Hermione. Draco raced through the house and let her in hastily, closing the door behind her gently as she swept past him.

"Where's Hermione?" she demanded, turning on him.

"She took a ride," he replied, backing away some. Ginny advanced on him.

"Are you sure that's it? You haven't done away with her, or got her locked up somewhere, have you?"

"No!" he replied, frowning. "Look, go out to the barn if you don't believe me. My father is out there, too-"

"Oh, Merlin, they're alone together?"

A series of less than pleasant thoughts flashed through Draco's mind at the same time as they did with Ginny, though his were of quite a different sort than hers. She didn't have years of images of Lucius torturing muggles to draw from, after all. His face paled.

"Look, he's not like that anymore," he said, swallowing hard. Ginny poked him in the chest.

"No? Then where is she?"

"I already said!" he exclaimed, holding his hands up. Suddenly they both heard the back door slam shut and a pair of footsteps pounded through the hall. They saw a flash of light brown hair as Hermione dashed into her room and seconds later the familiar sound of her heaving her guts into the toilet followed. Ginny unceremoniously pushed Draco out of the way and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door shut in his face.

He glared at the door as the sounds traveled back to him; Ginny pestering Hermione, holding her hair for her; Hermione coughing and protesting Ginny's help. More vomiting.

Damn it! Draco slammed his hand against the doorframe in his anger. She'd been getting better! Since she'd talked to him, since his father's recovery, she'd been getting better. They'd fallen into a routine, maybe even a pleasant one, if not entirely happy…so what had happened to set her off? And suddenly, resting his forehead against the closed door, he knew.

"Dad," he murmured. He straightened and stepped away from the door. Then he walked down the hall and left the house. He broke into a run seconds later.

He couldn't be certain he was right, but he figured it would only take one look at his father's face to know what had happened. He expected to find him sitting in the barn, or standing, a smug look on his face, chin tilted aristocratically, hands gripping the cane with pleasure. His eyes would be bright from the verbal sparring he'd have just engaged in…

No, he told himself. It was wrong to automatically suspect his father. His footsteps slowed as he approached the barn. Hadn't Hermione herself said that she didn't believe Lucius was the same man, that he'd changed? That the war and all its horrors had undeniably changed them all. She'd explained so calmly that she was no longer afraid of his father, that she knew together, they could help him regain his strength of body and mind. That she wanted, more than anything, to see them both get well and leave her the hell alone. He gave a sad laugh and bent over his knees, catching his sides from the effort of jogging out to the barn. He'd run the whole way, after all, he'd been so eager to rip into his father for hurting Hermione, for making her suffer more-

The realization of what he'd been about to do hit him solidly in the gut and he stopped altogether. What was he thinking? Not only had he assumed his father was guilty, he'd been prepared to turn on him with no thought at all, and all because of a woman he'd barely gotten to know again after two weeks.

And yet…it didn't feel wrong, did it, to care about her well being. It didn't feel wrong to be concerned for her, not when she'd been so concerned for them time and again. He sighed and straightened up again, raking a hand through his hair. The barn door stood open, inviting him into its cool depths and he glanced back at the house before turning forward again. Well, he was here now.

He might as well go check on his father, anyway.

* * *

Up at the house, Ginny wiped Hermione's face tenderly after her friend had spewed the last of her bile.

"Nothing else is coming up, Hermione," Ginny murmured, petting her hair and rubbing her back. "Come on, sit up for me- now put your head down- good, that's right. Just calm down. Take deep breaths. Slowly, slowly. There…"

Hermione rested her head against her knees and let Ginny talk her back from the edge. Her vision blurred from tears and the strain of vomiting and she let out a slow, ragged sigh.

"Ginny," she breathed. "I've been an idiot."

"I doubt that," Ginny replied, her voice practical, but gentle.

"No, I have," Hermione insisted, rolling her forehead across her knees and then banging it against them lightly.

"Hermione, stop that," Ginny said, holding her head, bringing it up and forcing her friend to look at her. "Whatever happened, a trail accident, or a fight with Lucius, or a fucking embrace- it doesn't matter. No, look at me. Look at me, Hermione."

Hermione focused on her friend's brown eyes with some difficulty, felt her face trying to collapse again and bring more tears.

Ginny's face fell and she scooted forward on the tile, put her arms about her friend. Hermione rested her head on her shoulder and Ginny stoked a hand down her back with a long, steady rhythm.

"You're fine," Ginny murmured as she rocked the other woman. "You're fine. What was it? A hug? A kiss? Whatever it was, it's ok, Hermione. Sometimes these things happen. You're taking care of two grown men without any help- two men you knew before everything else. It's bound to rake up unpleasant memories. It's bound to make you do crazy things." She scoffed lightly. "And you're trying to relate to them, through it all. Trying to connect with them, to make yourself feel more human despite the past. These things will happen. You can't let it worry you this way."

"It wasn't just that," Hermione whispered as more tears escaped. "I told him. About everything."

Ginny froze, then went on with the gentle rocking motion. She knew what that word meant. Everything was their code word for Ron. And he had meant everything, for Hermione.

"I see." It was no wonder her friend was lying on the bathroom floor, crying and being sick. "You haven't talked about that in a long time," she said quietly.

"I know. And I told him, this stranger in my home, and he kissed me, Ginny." She sniffed and Ginny waited for the other shoe to drop. "And I _liked_ it," she ended, voice lower than a whisper. Then she buried her face against Ginny's neck again. "I'm a terrible person."

"You're not," Ginny said fiercely. "You aren't. Stop that. You're a wonderful witch and woman, Hermione Granger. I'm surprised they both haven't been throwing themselves at you. Besides, you're mental, not dead. You'd probably like it just as much if the Ferret locked lips with you."

Hermione snorted and began laughing even as she was crying and Ginny held her up by the shoulders, searching her face.

"Feeling better?"

"A little," Hermione admitted. "Oh, Ginny, what am I supposed to do now? I've compromised the whole program, the whole point of their recovery."

"You have not," Ginny retorted stubbornly. "Stop thinking that way. You have several options at this point. One, I could kick his bloody, pureblood arse all the way back to the Department of Mysteries."

Hermione shook her head and swallowed more laughter.

"No? Well, two, three and four depend on what you want, because I may have to kick his arse anyway."

"Ginny!" But she was smiling again, even if it was a weary expression. Hermione sighed. "And what are two, three and four?"

"Two," Ginny began, ticking them off on her fingers, "is you run back to him right now and continue to snog him senseless before taking up with him and making him your love slave."

Hermione looked torn between more laughter and vomiting again. Ginny gave her a small grin and continued.

"Three is you pretend nothing happened and anytime he or anyone else tries to bring it up you kick their arse, leave the room, and proceed to get completely knackered."

"Go on," Hermione said, waving a hand. "And four?"

"Four is you talk to him about it and then decide what you'd rather do. It can sometimes be helpful when choosing between one through three."

Hermione's laughter subsided and she looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment. "So, that's what having all those boyfriends at Hogwarts did for you," she said after a minute and Ginny gave her look, but smiled a second later.

"What can I say? Having all those older brothers didn't hurt, either."

Hermione hung her head and rocked back and forth for a minute. "So…why are you here?" she asked suddenly, looking up again.

Ginny raised her brows and stood up, helping Hermione up as well. She flushed the toilet and turned on the tap for Hermione, who rinsed her face.

"I came," she began, "because Zabini pissed me off. And I knew if I called here you'd just hang up on me or not pick up at all, since you've been upset with me, too. So I just came, instead. And aren't you glad I'm here?"

"I am, actually," Hermione replied, smiling sadly. "Thanks, Gin."

"Not a problem. Now, what do you want to do first? Try and eat something? Listen to me blather on? See about talking to Malfoy?"

"I-" Hermione stopped short. She frowned. "Where is Draco?"

Ginny walked out of the bathroom and opened the door of the bedroom, peered out. "I don't see him," she replied, then turned back and called for him. "Oy, Malfoy!"

"Ginny, he has a name," Hermione said with an exasperated look at her friend, who merely shrugged and gestured out the door as Hermione approached her.

"Be my guest," she said.

"Draco?" Hermione called as she stepped into the hall. The house was quiet.

"He was just here a few minutes ago," Ginny said. "He let me in."

"I wonder where he could have-" Hermione stopped again, one hand over her mouth. The image from a week ago, of him standing there outside her door, listening for sounds of life. The sight of him on the stairs, asking if she was alright, begging for tea. She turned to Ginny.

"The barn," she said. "He heard me being sick and he's gone to the barn to check on his father. Oh, lord, he must have been so worried-"

"Or insane with jealousy," Ginny responded, which only made glare at her.

"Ginny, don't joke like that-"

"Why not? You just admitted that his dad kissed you! How much would you like to bet that he fancies he's half in love with you, too?"

"Oh, fuck…" Hermione groaned.

"Come on," Ginny said, propelling Hermione towards the kitchen. "I say we let them fight it out amongst themselves. What's the worst that can happen? One of them offs the other, making your choice of love slave easier."

"Ginny, you're not helping," Hermione protested as her friend navigated them through the door and up to the kitchen table. She was fairly sure she'd never seen Ginny act so Molly-like. She rather liked it, not that she'd ever tell Ginny that. It would probably make her insufferable.

"Maybe not," Ginny responded sharply, "but walking out there into God knows what sort of mess won't help, either. They're men, Hermione. Father and son. It's a bloody tale as old as time and they have to work it out on their own. Now sit down. I'm making you tea. And tea, as we all know perfectly well, helps everything."

Hermione sat.

* * *

**AN: I've decided to be mean and withhold Draco's and Lucius' conversation for another day. *looks smug* Just because I can.**


	25. So Everyone Can Hear

**I own no part of Harry Potter. None. **

**AN: In which your beloved author throws a tantrum and hopes you all feel suitably ashamed. (And perhaps feels slightly ashamed of her language.)**

**Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. If one more of you- even one!- whines about one eensy, weensy, stupid little kiss that a) I warned you about and b) afterwards reassured you many, many times that she was NOT going to end up with Lucius and will, in fact, end up with Draco and it will be hot as all fuck, I swear to Jesus Christ on his whole wheat cracker that I will abandon this story and leave you all shivering in my malevolent wake, begging for mercy. Do you hear me? COWER, minions. Cower. *stalks off***

**Oh, and here's another chapter. God DAMN it.**

**(And yes, I am aware that these are all quite empty threats. But fuck all if I don't feel better.)**

* * *

Lucius looked up at the sound of footsteps and craned his head to see who it was.

"It hasn't been half an hour," he called out. Draco walked into view. He relaxed and leaned back again. "So, she sent you after all, did she," he murmured. "I had wondered."

Draco stopped short of his father and stood in the middle of the aisle, staring at him. "Had wondered what?"

When Lucius didn't respond, merely pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, Draco waved a hand as if to say it didn't matter. There were more pressing questions to be asked anyway, like how was he, and had he seen Hermione, and-

"Wait, who sent me?" Draco asked. "You couldn't mean that Weasley, she just…got…" His voice trailed off as he worked that one out. Lucius cracked one eye open and began to feel rather sorry for him. Almost as sorry as he was feeling for himself.

"I meant Hermione. I take it she didn't send you, then?"

Draco shook his head and sat down beside his father. "She's busy being sick in her bathroom. I came out to see if you were alright."

"You mean to see if I knew what was the matter with her," Lucius corrected him with a sad little sigh.

"And do you?"

"What is wrong with the rest of us, Draco."

Draco frowned. That was no answer. His eyes narrowed and he came to an uncomfortable realization. "You've been crying. Is it talking about Mum earlier? Did that set you off?" Draco crossed his arms as an even more uncomfortable thought occurred to him. "Did you say something to Hermione because of it?"

Lucius thought about that. He hadn't said anything to Hermione because of that at first…in fact, she'd said more to him than he had to her. But just now, before she'd gone running off to be sick? Oh, yes. He'd definitely had some words for her. With her. Words that had torn all the stuffing from the comfort he'd given her. And then, perhaps because of that frustration and perhaps because he was feeling more than a bit guilty, he did something Narcissa would have said was rather stupid. He decided to provoke his son. Then again, he thought he might be doing Draco a favor with it; after all, the boy had no courage at the moment, only used comebacks and tired wit. He was going soft. And if he was really after their so-called savior of a captor, he'd need something more than kind words to win her. He'd need the will to act. Like he so clearly had in spades, himself.

Right, that's what kissing a vulnerable woman because she reminded him of his dead wife was called these days.

Lucius affected his best sneer, though it took a great deal of energy to do so.

"I can't be expected to coddle the girl."

"The grown woman, you mean," Draco supplied, his voice now frosty with suppressed and growing anger.

"Does it make a difference? She's clearly caught your eye."

"Dad," Draco said, and his voice broke a little. He was finding it hard to control himself. "This isn't like you."

"How do you know what is and is not like me, son? I've been absent for a long time. Things change."

"No," Draco said, clenching his hands into fists. "Even when you were serving Voldemort, you were kind to Mum and I. You loved us. You just told me that the other night-"

"Loving you and approving of your choice of infatuation are two different things, Draco."

"Dad, she's a good person- you said so yourself, not two days after we'd been here! And we should be grateful-"

"Grateful? When she dragged me back to this hell? Don't mistake me, son, I'm glad of your company and if I can be of some small joy to you, but life without your mother is wasted on me," he ended on an angry hiss and closed his eyes again. And though it had started as a mere provocation, he was ashamed to know that it was true; and he would rather be back in that shell Hermione had nothing but disdain for, than in a feeling, thinking world.

As for gratitude…he had plenty of it for her, on behalf of his son. On behalf of himself was another matter entirely. Or perhaps that was only him fooling himself so that the ache of his own heart, knowing that nothing existed for him here, would ease a little.

Life was for the young, after all.

Seconds later, he felt the bench beside him ease and heard Draco walk away, presumably leaving the barn again.

Lucius let himself drift into the only nothing available to him now, and slept.

* * *

Draco stormed along the path, kicking weeds and throwing rocks and feeling very much like he was still in his first year at Hogwarts. But he wasn't and that thought only made him feel worse. It made him feel like punching his father in the face, was what it did; which was why he'd gone ahead and left. It wouldn't have ended pleasantly, him sitting beside his crippled father while he slept, stewing away at him and wanting to pound in his face. And for what? For another not so pretty face? For a woman he really barely knew?

He kicked another rock and sent it flying off the path. What had gotten into his father? What had gotten into Hermione? He had no doubt that his father had something to do with Hermione's distraught state; but he couldn't bring himself to interrogate the man, to push and prod him; and alienate him that way when he'd only just gotten him back.

It was fucking unfair and made him feel extremely angry and impotent, all in one go. Which in turn only made him angrier. He stalked all the way up to the back porch and was about to pound his way across it and to the door when it occurred to him that Hermione and Ginny were probably still in the house, and he ought to be quiet.

But why ought he to be quiet? Because he didn't want them hearing him and asking awkward questions he couldn't answer because he was too much of a coward to stand up to his father, _still_? And that after wiping the man's rear and feeding him for eight fucking years?

Merlin's _balls_.

* * *

Seconds later, from the comfort of the kitchen, Ginny and Hermione could hear him stomping his way up the back porch anyway; heard the slam of the screen door.

Ginny looked at Hermione only to find that her friend's eyes were glued to the doorway, as if expecting a fiery, furious Draco to appear there and smite her for her…and that was where the metaphor broke down. But it was a lovely image while it lasted, Ginny thought and sighed before taking another sip of her tea.

"Psst," she whispered to Hermione. "Pssssst."

Hermione jerked about and stared at her, eyes wide.

"I don't think he's coming in here," Ginny said in her best stage whisper.

Hermione frowned and stared at the door again.

"He told him," she said, her voice desolate.

"I doubt that," Ginny replied and pulled out some things for breakfast. It was high time Hermione and her strays ate. Their blood sugar had to be lower than Bellatrix in Voldemort's presence, which was probably what had set all this nonsense off in the first place.

Ginny might make a lot of cold salads and forget to eat a great deal of the time, but by god, she knew the importance of blood sugar levels when it came to living in the same house with someone.

"Why do you say that?" Hermione mumbled, still watching the door.

"Because if he'd told him, he would have come in here first thing and thrown a tantrum. And he would have been out in the barn a lot longer, either because he was pummeling his dad or having a big, fat girly cry. Where are your frying pans again?"

"In the cupboard," Hermione said, pointing lazily somewhere behind her. Ginny raised an eyebrow and began rummaging through them all. Hermione suddenly turned back to her. "You were right," she said.

"What?"

"About Lucius knowing something. About me needing to talk to Harry, too."

"That was all your suggestion," Ginny replied, still scrounging about.

"Look, he hasn't told me everything yet, because we…because I…"

"Because when you pressed him for answers he distracted you by asking you questions you really didn't want to answer, but felt compelled to, because for some bloody unfathomable reason you suddenly felt like you owed him. And then kissed you. And then probably claimed he didn't mean anything by it, and said something rude, and sent you off in a fit." She found the large frying pan and emerged triumphant, hoisting it in one hand.

"Thank you for that exposition," Hermione replied dryly. "It really doesn't make me feel any better."

"Too bad. Pancakes or omelets?"

Hermione suddenly perked up. "Something's got into you."

Ginny nearly dropped the pan. "I have no idea-"

"No, no. Something's got into you. What is it? Zabini? No, you already told me he pissed you off. That's not it. It must be…ah ha!"

Ginny cowered.

"Harry!"

Ginny cracked several eggs into a bowl. "Omelets, I think," she said in a very small voice.

"It is Harry, isn't it? He's the only bloke you'd ever let kiss you now and get away with it!"

"Come off it," Ginny replied, feeling her temper rise. "You just have kissing on the brain. Stop fishing for…whatever!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Something happened with you and Harry and I want to know what it is."

"What it was, you mean."

"Don't you distract me by correcting my grammar, Ginny Weasley."

"Would you prefer a distraction in the form of Draco Malfoy, then? Because he's standing in the doorway, finally."

Hermione whirled back around and stared at Draco, who in turn stared at the floor, face still pink and angry.

Ginny looked between the two of them warily for a moment, then set the bowl of eggs down and said coolly, "I think I'll take a walk to the barn and have a few words with Lucius, since someone clearly needs to take him in hand."

Hermione shot Ginny a dark look, but Draco, though his face flushed further and he set his jaw, didn't say a word. Seconds later the back door eased shut and they could hear Ginny's softer steps making their way across the porch and out into the yard. Hermione looked at Draco a little longer, but he didn't meet her eyes and she finally shrugged helplessly and turned to the abandoned eggs.

After a few more seconds of silence, she heard him speak.

"What did my father say to you?"

"He didn't say anything," Hermione began and suddenly Draco was behind her and reaching for the bowl and setting it down behind him, out of her reach.

"What did my father say to you?"

She looked up at him, almost cowed for one whole second, and then her brows drew together in ire and her nostrils flared and Draco began to wonder if he'd made a mistake.

"I already said, Draco. Or weren't you listening? He didn't say anything to me. And even if he had, what goes on between the two of us is our own private business."

Draco frowned. "And what does go on between the two of you?" he asked, his voice cool.

"Sod off, Draco," Hermione replied and started to reach around him. He stepped back, blocking the bowl again.

"What happened in the barn this morning?"

"Oh, for fuck's- Draco, nothing! We had some words, there, are you happy?"

"If he upset you-"

"He didn't upset me! You _are!_" Hermione shrieked. And it was almost true. It was perfectly possible to believe the kiss had been an accident, a mistake, and she had been more upset talking about Ron and that terrible time than by his lips on hers. She waved her hands in frustration. "_You're_ upsetting me!"

Draco was so shocked that she was finally able to step around him and reach the bowl before he recalled himself.

"Me?" he sputtered. "What did I do? I've been a fucking angel the last week!"

"And what do you call this interrogation, then?" she shot back, and began beating the eggs madly. Salt and pepper flew from her hand and a small spray of egg caught him across the front of his shirt. He looked down at it almost sadly.

"Hermione, I-"

And just like that, her anger receded. She sighed and set the eggs down, then reached for the pan and put it on the stove. "Oh, save it, Draco. Dear god."

"Why are you protecting him?" Draco asked quietly. He felt like a heel for badgering her, but he was suddenly unable to let it go. As if he knew that since he couldn't drag the truth from his father then he'd have to drag it from her, instead. And she was an easier target, anyway, wasn't she? After all, he cared less about her than he did for his dear old dad.

At least, he thought he did.

"Don't," Hermione said. "Don't even try that with me. If I'm protecting anyone, it's myself. Maybe I don't want all this conflict. Maybe there are things that shouldn't be raked up more than once a day. Once a week, or month, even."

And although that sounded very fair to Draco, and deflated his anger considerably, he found himself stepping towards her again, unwilling to leave her.

"I want to help," he tried again.

Hermione whirled on him again, glared mightily, and then unceremoniously dumped the bowl of eggs in the hot skillet.

"You can't help, Draco Malfoy," Hermione said. "And even if you could, I'd hardly call what you're doing right now helping, would you? Pestering me because you can't even sort things out with your own father, even though you're the only reason he's still alive? Bothering me for answers because you're afraid daddy won't love you anymore if you're too much of an annoyance? Fuck off, Draco."

The anger came back.

"Yeah? Well at least I'm not some fucking shut-in mourning over a dead man," he responded before he could think about what he was saying. Or maybe he had thought about it, and just didn't care. Hermione couldn't tell for the tears in her eyes.

"Go to hell, Draco," she hissed. "You want to know what happened? Fine. Your father-" But something stopped her, killed her angry reaction. Maybe it was the way his eyes darkened with sorrow, as if he'd known all along that his father was still a terrible man. Maybe it was the determined set of his jaw, as if he was saying, I can take it. Whatever it is, I'm strong enough to know.

Except she really didn't think he was, and besides which, the kiss hardly seemed to matter, anymore.

"-is a bloody infuriating man," she finished and attacked the eggs unnecessarily. "And he goaded me into telling him about Ron. That's all. And that's why I was sick."

Draco felt all the air leave him and then sagged against the counter in relief. So, it had just been words. Just his father lashing out because he was feeling his own ineffectiveness as a man. It was perfectly normal, even if it wasn't ok.

"I'm sor-"

"Don't you dare," she interrupted him, waving a knife at him before turning back to chop more mushrooms and cheese. "Don't you dare apologize for him. He can do it himself if he wants to. Besides, it's about fucking time I started talking about all that, anyway, isn't it?"

She was trembling inside, but her voice was relatively calm and she felt quite proud of herself.

"Only if you want to," Draco replied softly. "I won't ever goad you into it," he promised. She scoffed and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Right. Thanks. I appreciate the sentiment, anyway."

"I mean it," he said, suddenly eager to prove that he and his dad were still worth it, even if one of them was a curmudgeon and the other had an unpredictable temper. That she didn't need to be afraid of him, at least; that she could still live with them here, on her farm.

He wondered if this was what a shelter dog felt like, begging to be kept.

"Draco, this isn't going to be smooth sailing," she responded. "I knew that signing on for you. We're going to continue to argue, and push each other's buttons, and annoy one another in a hundred little ways. We're housemates, even if I am in charge, and there's nothing any of us can do about the inevitable spats and rows that come with the territory."

"You're awfully philosophical about it," he murmured and she shrugged before passing the cutting board and its contents along to him to finish chopping.

"I have to be," she said. "I'd go insane otherwise."

* * *

Ginny stepped into the cool interior of the barn, grateful for its shade. There was a fine breeze up outside, but the sun was already heating the ground and it promised to be hot.

Her eyes adjusted to the light and she decided not to waste any time.

"Malfoy!" she called. She walked down the center aisle, waving to the horses still in their stalls for some reason or other, who greeted her with neighs of carrot-filled hope. Then she came to a halt.

Lucius wasn't very hard to spot. Not with that head of platinum blond hair going white and the perpetual sneer lines etched into his face. Although, she thought as she watched him sleep, she could see the attraction. Maybe. If one really liked old men. His face was rather dignified, after all, his jaw line strong, his shoulders broad.

His opened lazily, like a cat's, and he regarded her with weak disdain.

She wrinkled her nose. No, never mind. She couldn't see any attraction at all.

"Tell me what you know," she said to him and he blinked a few times, looked like he wanted to close his eyes again. She walked closer and kicked his foot.

He merely gave her an amused look, like she was a child trying to get his attention. She crossed her arms. Two could play at that game. And no one won against Ginny Weasley. Not anymore.

"I know what happened," she said and he gave a slight start and looked away. "Don't turn away from me, Lucius Malfoy. I'm not the one you should feel ashamed for. Hermione deserves your apology."

"I seem to recall her returning the kiss," he replied and Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Sure about that, are you? It couldn't possibly have been she was so shocked to have a real man kissing her after all that time that she simply couldn't move?"

"Let us stop trifling, Miss Weasley," he said softly. "I do not care for Hermione. I think we both- rather, now the three of us- know it was a mistake."

"Oh, do we?" Ginny restrained herself from kicking his foot again. "The two of us know it, perhaps, but does she?"

"Considering it is you who is here now and not her, yes, I believe that is the case," he replied.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You're such a twat."

Lucius gave her an incredulous look and then a single bark of laughter escaped his lips. "Am I?"

"Yes. Now I believe you have some information that you owe myself and Hermione."

"I have told her what I know."

"Bollocks. Like I'm going to believe that. You played on her weaknesses and then thrust them back in her face, is what you did. I doubt she remembers half of what you said, you slimy git. Not after puking the way she did. So, what will it be?"

Lucius stared at her for a long moment and then sighed and gave a weary shake of his head. "You have me at a disadvantage, Miss Weasley. You're perfectly right. I abused Hermione very ill this morning."

"Miss Granger, you mean."

"What?"

"Miss Granger, to you," Ginny prompted him again. "It makes you sound like less of a dick about the whole thing."

Lucius raised another brow and looked away again. Ginny watched the wheels in his head turning and waited.

"What would you have me do?" he finally asked, after some minutes.

"Tell us both what you know and then leave her the hell alone," Ginny answered promptly.

"Ah, and by leave her the hell alone you mean…"

"You know what I mean, you wretched man," Ginny said and did kick at his foot again. He looked pained and disgruntled at the same time. She felt a vicious little thrill.

Lucius wondered when his patience would break.

"So leave her alone to wallow in her misery? To revel in the ghost of a man who didn't love her enough to overcome his own demons and blamed her for his completely unnecessary suicide?"

Ah, yes. There it went. Ginny turned a shade of red to rival her hair color.

"You unfeeling beast," she hissed. "How dare you-"

"What, has no one ever pointed it out, before? That your darling brother hung himself and left a note essentially telling Hermione- pardon me, Miss Granger- that it was her fault; and then had the gall to say that he hoped she could heal all her scars someday. Excuse me, Miss Weasley, but it all seemed rather obvious to me the minute I heard the sad tale."

Ginny slapped him across the face. He was sad he didn't feel it for all the protective spells. He rather thought he deserved it, after all.

"When you're quite finished having your own little self-pity party," Ginny seethed quietly, "come join us back at the house. And do remember your fucking manners, Malfoy," she finished, saying his name as if it were poison. Then she turned and stalked back up the aisle and left the barn.

"Miss Weasley," he called on impulse and was rewarded with her stopping and looking back at him.

"I have no intentions towards your friend," he offered.

Ginny raised a brow to mirror his own and smiled coolly. "I didn't think you had," she responded. Lucius frowned, and before he could ask the inevitable question, she spoke again. "I just hate you that much. Hermione may be taken in by all your posturing and your limping and your sad eyes, but I'm not. I like you even less now than I did back then, and mostly because you were a hell of a lot more obvious with your motivations in those days."

He inclined his head to show her he understood. But before she could turn on her heel again, he spoke to her once more.

"My motivations have changed, Miss Weasley. Quite frankly, I don't have any. I simply wish to be left alone to grow even older and die. Pureblood, halfblood, women, children- none of it matters to me any longer. I just wish to die in peace."

Ginny gave him a hateful look, as if she wanted to tear his throat out for evoking a feeling other than dislike for him in her breast and she finally turned and left, without another word.

Lucius watched her go for a moment, then laid his head back against the wall and groaned. Lovely. Perhaps Ginny would be so good as to relay his wishes to Hermione and then he could just sit here and turn to bones.

Dusty, lonely bones.

* * *

**AN: Grouchy Margot is grouchy. **


	26. Can't Explain Myself

**I don't own Harry Potter, still. Omg.**

**AN: Holy fuck. 25 chapters in two weeks. I must be out of my bleeding mind. Also, sorry if that last AN actually scared any of you. I'm not abandoning the story, I promise. They were empty threats. Empty like Lucius' soul, empty. I was merely upset and so took it out on the faceless horde of the internet, as all well-balanced people do. **

**Also, I'm pretty sure _my_ blood sugar was low.**

* * *

Zabini stood on the small balcony and looked to the ground below where people passed by and flowers bloomed and fucking birds sang. He wondered if Ginny was ever going to return, and if he would live long enough after her return to find out what Malfoy had told her.

* * *

"No, you're doing it wrong- it's going to break-"

"I am not, shove over-"

"Draco! Look, there it goes, you're losing it-"

"Hermione, I am quite capable of flipping a damn omelet, thank you very-"

They both stared at the mess of egg, mushroom and cheese now lying on the floor.

"Five second rule?" Hermione asked and Draco looked at her like she was mental- well, she was, after all- before they both dove to the ground and began scraping the ruined omelet onto a plate.

"Perhaps we can feed it to my dad," Draco murmured, and Hermione gave a shocked giggle. Draco looked up at her to find both her hands clapped over her mouth, her eyes wide.

"He won't know?" she said tentatively, after lowering her hands. Draco raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth followed suit. Hermione bit her lip.

* * *

Ginny arrived back in the kitchen to find them in peals of laughter as Hermione showed Draco the proper way to safely flip an omelet without losing it. He was holding the pan with one hand, the spatula with the other, and Hermione's smaller hands were hovering over his, anxiously anticipating his every move.

"Ok, one, two, four!"

"Draco!"

"Three, I meant three!"

Ginny eyed the plate on the table with the remains of one attempt upon it. She somehow doubted the happy fates of the other omelets.

"What are you two giggling over?" she asked coolly and was about to reach down and pluck a bit of mushroom from the messy plate when Hermione looked back at her and shrieked.

"No!" she said and Ginny's hand froze. "That one, er, Draco made it…especially for his father. As a…token of, er…"

"My apologies, and to welcome him back to us," Draco said. "A sign of goodwill," he added with a grandiose flourish of the spatula.

Hermione hid her mouth behind her hand, but Ginny could hear her still sputtering with laughter. She frowned. She wasn't sure if she liked this situation more or less than the situation still sitting in the barn at that moment.

Draco winked at Hermione, who swatted his arm and started tutoring him in omelet flipping ways again.

More, Ginny decided. She liked it more. It still wasn't ideal, but what would have been ideal was if Ron was still with them. As he wasn't…she remembered Lucius' stinging words and decided she really, really hated that man. Even if he was sort of sad and pathetic. At least his son was trying to show Hermione some respect, rather than just digging into all her old wounds just so he could humiliate her.

Oh, she was certain Draco and Hermione had exchanged more than their fair share of harsh words already, but there was an element of camaraderie that she didn't see in Lucius' eyes. Not that one saw much of anything in those eyes.

Shaking her head, she took a seat and continued to watch the antics before her. Their steady bickering, mingled with laughter, reminded her of days from long ago. Days none of them could ever regain. Even the memories of those days were tinged bittersweet by the horrors that had come after. She smiled slightly and wasn't aware she'd made a sound until Hermione turned back around.

"Ginny?"

Ginny jerked her head. "Yeah?"

"Ginny, you're crying. What is it?" Hermione walked over to her and sat beside her. Draco judiciously turned back and around and continued to poke at the omelets.

Ginny waved a hand, "Oh, it's nothing. Sorry if I startled you. You know me. Weepy, weepy, all the time. Bloody hell, where is my-"

Hermione quickly pulled the tissue box over and shoved several sheets into her friend's hand.

"Thanks," Ginny said and proceeded to blow her nose. Draco glanced at her over his shoulder.

What in the hell? First Hermione, now Ginny? What the fuck was wrong with his father?

"Ginny," Hermione said slowly, "did something happen with Lucius?"

"Oh, Merlin. What didn't happen? You know, you're lucky I didn't hex him into oblivion."

"You can't anyway," Hermione said. "Wards."

"Oh, hell. That's right. Look, it doesn't matter anyway. I'm just moping after thinking about it all- and I told you Zabini pissed me off-"

"Ginny, it's ok."

Ginny looked at Hermione and shot a glance at Draco. Hermione followed her line of sight and narrowed her own eyes. She stood up.

"Draco, would you mind fetching your father for me?"

He tensed, but he dropped the spatula immediately, right after sliding the final omelet onto a waiting plate. He gave her a small smile.

"Not a problem."

Then he was gone, casually flicking the stove off before heading out the door. Hermione sat down again, all her attention on Ginny.

"What is it, Ginny? He didn't-"

"Of course not," Ginny said, laughing some. "Don't be ridiculous. He was just…rude about Ron. That's all. And watching you two here, cooking together, laughing…it made me feel-"

"I understand," Hermione said instantly. "Oh, Gin. I understand." She scooted forward in her chair and put her arms about her friend firmly.

"You know, a hundred little things remind me of him, day after day," she said quietly. "All someone has to do is say one word and I can think of ten memories I have of him saying it too, or laughing at someone else's joke, or…" She gave a small sigh. "I feel it too. How he's not really gone. That's what he meant to do, but it's as if, in…_doing that_, he only cemented his place in our lives. I can never be rid of him. But why would I want to be?"

Ginny cried a little harder and shook her head. "He was right, Hermione," she whispered.

"What? Who was right?"

"Lucius," Ginny choked. "He was right. He said Ron blamed you for his suicide, even if that's not what he really meant, it's what happened. That by saying he was taking his life for you, he placed the responsibility at your feet. And that wasn't right, or fair, either. It wasn't right."

Hermione felt tears spring to her own eyes and she shook her head, held Ginny tighter.

"That's nothing new, Ginny," she murmured. "I knew all that."

"What? But why- you never said-"

"I never said because I knew you'd act like you are right now. Being angry at Ron all over again for hurting me, when he couldn't help it. He couldn't endure it, Ginny. So he did what he had to and mistakenly pretended like I would be ok after that. He always was thick," she added and Ginny snorted and wiped at her eyes.

"I just feel so angry and hurt, thinking about it. Now, especially, after all this time."

Hermione smiled softly and sat up. She smoothed a hand over Ginny's hair.

"I feel that way every day," she said simply. "All of it. All the confusion, the guilt, the anger, the blame. I cycle through it several times a day, every day. Sometimes the feelings are mild and sometimes they're so strong I can't breathe and wish I were dead, too."

"Oh, Hermione."

Hermione swallowed hard. "The pills make more sense now?"

"I always thought it was the those nights," Ginny replied honestly. "I knew you were torn up over Ron, but I always assumed-"

"I know. Everyone did. It's ok. I think…I think I'm finally putting it past me, a little at a time. By accepting that it's never going to go away. I'll still have days where I can't breathe. But at least that's better than trying to pretend like someday it will all end, will magically disappear and I'll be whole again." She shook her head. "That's what Ron wanted, I know. And he didn't let himself live long enough to find another way of dealing with it. But I think," she said, and paused, her eyes far away from a country kitchen on a horse farm. She smiled ruefully. "I think he'd want me to find peace however I can."

"So being so upset earlier-"

"Just that. I can't control my bodily reactions to it all the time. It's getting better, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that when I need to cry, I should let myself cry. But that's all I'm doing. Crying because I always will, when I think of him and what could have been. Grief like that never goes away," she said and turned to Ginny again, her eyes bright with tears, but determined. Ginny could see no danger in her face of Hermione's losing her mind again. She hugged her friend again suddenly, fiercely, and was rewarded as Hermione's arms encircled her in return.

* * *

Draco wondered if he should even bother fetching his dad, or just let him rot out in the barn.

Then he decided that rotting was probably what his father wanted to do, since he'd deliberately provoked all three of them that morning; and that he shouldn't give him what he wanted. Clearly, forcing him to come back to the house to eat and be sociable was the more worthy punishment.

He walked into the barn and found Lucius still sitting on the bench, staring ahead of himself, a strange expression on his face.

"Dad?" he asked and waved a hand. Lucius frowned and glanced up at him, then went back to staring at nothing. Draco rolled his eyes. "Your presence is requested."

"I suppose you think I ought to apologize to them both, and to you."

"Honestly? I don't care what you say to me. You're my father and I'm stuck with you. But Hermione and Ginny, yeah. They've had it worse than we ever did."

"Draco…"

Draco decided he'd had enough. He clenched his hands at his sides and took a deep breath.

"So Mum is dead, so what?" he said and his voice echoed in the quiet of the barn. Lucius jerked his head up to meet his son's gaze, an angry reply on his lips, but Draco cut him off. "You know how many other people lost their husbands and wives and parents? They built a bloody brand new orphanage after the war, so many people died. They had to remodel Mungo's, so many were injured." Draco leaned over his father's seated figure, not looking away, forcing his dad to see that he was just as hurt, and still surviving despite it all. "Mum is gone, Dad," he said, his voice softer. "Mum is gone and I miss her every day and I'll never get over my bloody part in what happened during the war- but we've got to take advantage of the time we have now, don't we?" He glared at his father. "Well? Don't we owe her that much?"

Lucius flinched, but didn't look away, and it was Draco who finally turned about and began to walk off. Away from his father, so determined to lash out at others; away from the anger he was feeling for fear that he'd let it take hold of him, as it had once upon a time. He was nearly at the door when a sound from behind stopped him.

"Wait, Draco," came his father's voice, hoarse with emotion. "Wait."

Draco stood still, turned his head some. Lucius made his way up the aisle to stand beside him, cane making that solid thumping noise they'd all had to get used to.

"Please, I do apologize, Draco. I-"

"Save it for Hermione, Dad," Draco replied. Then he left the barn and started back to the house. Lucius stared at after him, face over run by hurt and anger. But it was eventually replaced with speculation, and even grudging admiration. So, there was hope for his son, after all.

Perhaps that meant there was hope for himself, as well. As long as he hadn't bungled things too badly already.

* * *

Hermione and Ginny had nearly righted themselves when Draco walked back inside. He paused, watching as one washed her hands and the other gathered extra tissues and threw them in the garbage.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked quietly and Hermione looked up, gave him a grateful smile.

"No," she said. "We were just wondering when we could eat, if we should wait for you."

Draco looked embarrassed and gestured to the table. "Go ahead. I'm not sure how hungry Dad is-"

"I can stand to eat," Lucius interrupted, hobbling up beside him. Draco moved away, as if the combined force of Ginny's and Hermione's mild glares might cause combustion and he wasn't taking any chances.

"Please," Hermione managed to say after a moment of strained silence. She pointed to an empty chair- the one before the plate that held the original omelet, Draco noticed. He dared wink at her. She flushed ten shades of red and had a coughing fit.

Lucius watched this nervously before waving a hand. Draco had moved to his own place and the rest of them were already sitting when he caught their attention.

"Before we begin, I thought I might…that is, perhaps it's better if I apologize for my behavior this morning. It was cruel of me to take out my frustrations upon the three of you, simply because I have no better idea of how to manage my emotions."

"Right, and you're going to make a proper apology now?" Ginny asked and Lucius looked quite at a loss. Hermione and Draco just looked between them, waiting. Ginny waved a hand. "You know, a proper one. Say, 'I'm sorry I was an ass and a bloody wanker and I'll try to behave myself in the future instead of sending you off into fits whenever I'm having a bad day.'"

Lucius was silent as he tried to control his snarl of rage. He knew she was right and Ginny knew she was right, too. She watched him smugly.

"Go on," she said and Lucius had just about worked up the courage to open his mouth when Hermione finally interrupted them.

"It's ok," she said and Ginny frowned.

"It is not-"

"It is," Hermione said firmly and she looked to Lucius. "I understand. We were both…caught off guard. Just don't let it happen again. Now everybody, eat. There's plenty of food- and we can make more omelets if we need to- and after breakfast we'll have that talk."

The four of them exchanged more uncertain glances, but Lucius knew the two women would not let him off the hook any longer; and even Draco was watching him with a suspicious look that it genuinely hurt his heart to see. Still, he'd spent eight long years sitting on that information, unable to tell it, even if he'd wanted to. And now the perfect storm had conspired to bring them all here together, to this quiet farm in the English countryside; and the least he could do for Narcissa's memory was honor her by telling his story to witches who'd long deserved to hear it.

Hermione suddenly asked for the juice and Draco reached across to pass it to her. Then Ginny asked for the fruit and Draco poured Lucius some tea.

And like that, the spell was broken. They each dug in, while Ginny and Hermione made mild conversation; and Draco and Lucius exchanged timid looks of apology and acceptance; and Hermione and Draco watched with baited breath as Lucius ate most of his omelet.

* * *

It was only after breakfast was over, and Draco was washing dishes while Hermione cleared the table and Ginny took a smoke, that Lucius spoke once more. He caught Hermione's hand as it reached for his plate and she looked at him curiously.

She resisted the urge to pull away when he tugged on it some and then leaned forward; and she leaned forward as well, to meet his whisper.

"Miss Granger," he said softly, "I am sorry for…being an ass, as Miss Weasley so delicately put it."

Hermione pursed her lips and shook her hand free of his to gather more dishes.

"Apology accepted," she hissed in return. "But I don't ever want to hear that word from you again."

His face relaxed and he nodded. "I understand."

"I hope you do," she replied before straightening up and carrying the dishes to Draco.

Draco gave her a sidelong glance and then looked back over his shoulder quickly. His father looked sad, somehow. Draco turned his attention back to the dishes in his hands.

"Are you ok?" he asked Hermione softly.

She gave him a wry smile and handed him another empty plate. "Am I ever?"

"Yes," he replied simply and scrubbed at a fork. She gave him a surprised look. "None of us are really alright," he went on in a quiet tone, "but what's normal, these days? I think you're amazing," he said honestly, if a bit unexpectedly, even to himself; and he turned his full gaze on her. His grey eyes met her brown ones with a seriousness she definitely hadn't been expecting and she suddenly felt more than a little trapped. Then the moment passed as quickly as it had come and he took the last dish from her and traded it for a newly washed plate.

Hermione looked down at the dish in her hands as if wondering how it had gotten there.

Draco went back to scrubbing, although he continued to sneak glances at her.

From the table, Lucius watched the exchange with an expressionless face. From the doorway, Ginny watched it and then ground her cigarette beneath her heal with a rather vicious motion. But the couple at the sink continued in their shared activity, unaware of their companions' silent judgment.

* * *

**AN: So, after this they will gather for their round table, of sorts, and everything will be laid out properly. Maybe. ;) Oh, and see? I didn't forget about Blaise. :D**


	27. The First to Know

**Idk, Harry Potter, like, totes so doesn't belong to me, yo.**

**AN: Fact- a friend gave me a cardboard New!Spock for my bday (mmm, the Quinto) and everytime my sister comes home to visit she dresses him up like something different. Right now he is Pirate!Spock. **

**Also, here is a new chapter with many revelations- but not all. Blaise still has to tell his side of the story, eh what? ;) And it's just one long scene this time, but what can you do? Write more? Naaaah. Saving the scene breaks for the next chapter. Gotta switch it up sometimes, keep you on your toes. Or some shit.**

* * *

Hermione settled the tray with assorted little biscuits and a pot of tea on one of the side tables in the living room and poured some out for everyone. They passed the cups around dutifully. Even if they didn't drink it, at least they'd have something to keep their hands busy; while they talked about things she really was beginning to wish they didn't have to talk about. But it wasn't entirely up to her. It was also up to Ginny, and Lucius, who looked grimly determined to see it through after the morning they'd all had.

Hermione wondered if her lips should still be tingling every time she looked at Lucius, or not. Was that normal? It had been so long since she'd had a proper kiss from a man she maybe, sort of found attractive that she couldn't remember. Then again, all of Ron's kisses had burned. Until they'd stopped. And then there'd been nothing.

She sank down into her armchair with a sigh and decided that this was all a very bad idea. Draco caught the look of desperation on her face and leaned towards her, ready to be solicitous once more.

She didn't think that was a good idea, either. Not when his eyes made her spine feel like it was ramrod straight and mush at the same time. So she looked away, to Ginny.

Ginny's eyes were fixed on some point inside her cup of tea, as if she could divine the future while it was still filled with tea. She reached into the cup, picked at some invisible hair or speck of dust with one finger, then pulled said finger back and blew on it quickly.

"Careful," Hermione said after the fact. "It's hot."

Ginny rolled her eyes up and over at her best friend, then rolled them back to the cup. Hermione sighed again and nearly met Draco's eyes, but slid hers away at the last minute. She missed the way his hands clenched about his delicate tea cup.

Lucius took a small sip and cleared his throat.

"How shall we do this?"

Hermione straightened up, pressed her lips together. "I rather thought…that is, we assumed you would simply tell us what happened."

Lucius looked at her like she was a simple child, but managed to make it a not unkind glance.

"Many things happened back then, Miss Granger," he said succinctly. And though she frowned slightly at his formal address of her, she didn't correct him again, he noted with satisfaction. That was fine, it was good. It was how it needed to be. He held his cup in long, graceful fingers that had been cramped with pain only a week ago and considered what to do. Finally, he spoke.

"If I may make a suggestion."

"Please," Hermione replied, and though there were four of them in the room, it may as well have only been the two of them in that moment. Her eyes met his and darted away again, the same as they did from Draco. Lucius resisted the urge to roll his eyes and be done with the lot. Young adults. Children.

He felt so fucking old.

"It would be easier for me to tell you the pertinent information if I know what you have already guessed, what you already know. Then I might more effectively fill in the gaps, so to speak." He said each word carefully and Hermione's eyes watched some spot on the rug. They flickered, but didn't look up again.

She wondered if his gaze- his and his son's- had affected her this way before the kiss. She couldn't remember. But between avoiding Lucius' and Draco's eyes, she didn't have many options for visual cues.

She did raise her brows, however. "That sounds fair. Let me get my file."

Draco jumped up. "In the desk, isn't it? I've got it- stay there."

But Ginny superseded them both. "_I _haveit," she said and, pulling her wand out, gave it a lazy flick. Seconds later, the file floated out into Hermione's outstretched hand. Her face was pinched, but she managed a thank you, just the same.

No matter how long it had been, watching others perform magic never got any easier- even if she had, as Lucius had pointed out, surrounded herself with the stuff despite her resolve to never use it again. Look where that had gotten her, after all. One of the first things Ginny had noticed, but politely declined to comment on, was the potions book Hermione had left sitting in the kitchen from a week ago, when she'd been reading up on ways to treat Lucius. And it wasn't like she could pretend she hadn't been digging about in her blossoming herb garden for helpful ingredients, either.

Shaking her head, she opened the file in her hands and flipped through a few pages, and finally glanced up. Lucius was still watching her, as was Draco. She addressed one of the flower prints on the wall.

"Ginny and I- that is, after Ginny told me how Zabini had been behaving, and Draco told me what little he knew, I decided to put together a timeline. I already had one, from right after we escaped. I was obsessed with figuring out what had happened back then, before…it ceased to matter," she added softly. No one spoke and she went on.

"At any rate, the night after the final battle, in the early hours of May third, the three of us were captured by some rogue Death Eaters. They kept us until late October, the twentieth. I should add that we believe they actually died three days before then, but we've never known the details, because when we escaped our cells and found them dead, we didn't…stick around to figure out what had happened." Her voice broke, but she soldiered on. "To this day we don't even know if the two bodies we found were the only ones holding us- Ginny was always prepared to swear there was at least one other, but as they didn't- as I wasn't their-"

She stopped outright and Ginny caught her breath, then took up the story.

"Four of them attacked us that night, you see," she continued. "I managed to take down one, but there were three others- it would have taken at least that many to restrain all three of us. So I always assumed. But there were only the two bodies when we escaped." She looked at Hermione, who wiped her cheeks and nodded that she was alright to go on.

"I hope you can understand why I grew suspicious of you, and of Zabini, after hearing what Draco had to say," Hermione said. "When he told me Zabini had visited you that October, and knowing that just days after you and your wife went missing, we found our way out- not to mention that I've seen the curse you've suffered from, Lucius," she added. "They tortured Ron with it, day in and day out."

Ginny nodded and covered her mouth, looked away. Draco watched Hermione, his eyes wide.

"You don't think Zabini was one of them-"

"I don't know," Hermione replied. "And it's up to your father now to tell us the rest. Ginny has tried to get it from Zabini, but-"

"He'll never tell," Lucius responded. "He wouldn't even tell me, at first. It was only when Narcissa came to me, told me she knew something was wrong, that food had been disappearing from the kitchen; and that damned boy tried to sneak off one night-" Lucius' eyes flashed with life and anger and he paused, breathing heavily, as if the effort of feeling anything wore at him. Draco looked from his father to the women.

"So there was something going on under our very noses?" he asked. "Don't tell me they were holding them on our property-"

Lucius held up a hand. "Let me start from the beginning," he said, his voice softer. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

The small company all leaned forward in their seats.

"Zabini came to stay with us that first week of October," he began and Draco nodded. Lucius went on. "He and Draco were not close, but Narcissa and I felt we should at least try to stick together, with the old club, you understand? And Zabini, while not a wholesome sort himself, was at least mostly innocent of all charges against him, save cowardice. It was difficult, to be a former associate of the Dark Lord- even if one had renounced one's ways- during that time. Your disappearance and the subsequent hunt for you had all good people- _all_," he said again, fiercely, "up in arms. So even if once our cases had looked promising, we were forced to view the alternative: that things might end badly."

"Go on," Hermione said quietly. Lucius' eyes flickered, but he did not open them.

"You may recall, Draco, that as you didn't care for his company, it left Blaise up to his own devices for much of the time?"

"Yes," Draco replied. "He'd go for long walks and broom rides. Even off the estate, at times."

Lucius gave another sigh. "I was particularly suspicious of all behaviors during that period. Just because we had once banded together didn't mean we were now protecting one another. And I knew Zabini was only for himself, which was why I was paying such close attention to his activities during his visit." He paused again, took a deep breath. "Which was why I noticed him acting strangely after one such excursion off our property, not long after he'd come to stay."

"I know the one you mean," Draco said suddenly. "He came back and wouldn't speak to me at all, wouldn't even eat with us. Acted like he'd taken ill, when he was perfectly healthy. He'd only been there three days or so, hadn't he?"

Lucius finally opened his eyes. "That's correct. It was the week after that Narcissa came to me and told me about the trouble in our kitchen. That someone was thieving. I noticed other items- just small things, but some valuable enough to fetch a decent price- started to disappear as well. It was during one of my conversations with Narcissa on the subject that Zabini accidentally walked into the room. Shall we say his behavior…gave him up?

"I questioned him almost immediately, but he insisted he knew nothing. But the longer I watched him, I knew something nefarious was going on. He snuck around like gnome, pick pocketing items and then taking his long walks. I finally cornered him one night in the library, and had to use legilimency to see what was happening. That was the morning of the seventeenth. What I saw…" He paused and swallowed, staring into his cup before bringing his head up and looking at both Hermione and Ginny in turn. His eyes were dark and unholy.

Hermione couldn't look away, even as Lucius dropped his gaze again. Her fingers gripped the edges of her armchair too tightly and she was trembling all over. Ginny's hands were shaking so badly she'd had to put her tea cup down and had covered her face entirely. Only Draco sat up straight, his face expressionless- but not because he was not moved. Because if he let himself feel anything, he was certain he would hurt someone, or something.

"Blaise had somehow stumbled across the small cottage in the woods that bordered our property. The Death Eaters there had immediately seen his usefulness and they Imperioused him to do their bidding."

Ginny gave a small cry and sank back against her seat. "So it wasn't his fault?"

Lucius sent her a piercing look.

"They ordered him to bring them food and secure money and supplies for them, Miss Weasley," he said as gently as possible. "Nothing else. I saw everything, there in his memories. They did not order him to keep it a secret, or to not try and help you. That he did- rather, didn't do- entirely on his own. As for the torture…whether he willingly took part in it or not, I truly cannot say."

"Then the third man-"

"Was not Zabini, not at first," Lucius said. "I saw what they'd told him, explained to him. They'd begun to turn against each other within the first months and finally one killed another, narrowing their number to two. But by then, I can only assume, they already had Mister Weasley to do their bidding. Am I right?" he asked, turning his gaze to Hermione, who had paled.

She only nodded before slumping into her chair and mirroring Ginny's horrified pose, her hands over her face. Draco thought his heart was going to break.

"You said it was the morning of the seventeenth," Draco prompted his father finally and Lucius nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"Right. After I realized what I'd seen, could process it, I immediately took measures to detain Zabini and called Narcissa in to tell her the entire story. We had to decide what to do, you understand. Draco wasn't with us that day- you'd gone into town, son, if you recall, so we could not rely on his help, but we knew we needed to act fast, whatever we did."

"I should think the decision to call the aurors would be quite simple," Ginny ground out, her voice accusing.

Lucius gave a small shake of his head. "We tried to," he said. "Narcissa and I- actually, it was entirely at my wife's insistence that we go there ourselves. I suppose there was a certain element of looking after our own interests, because if we told the aurors and then stepped back, did nothing else to help, it would make us look guilty as well. Still, those were not our only reasons. Narcissa was heartsick when she learned what was going on. She was ready to fly out the door and take care of the situation herself before I stopped her, talked some sense into her.

"It was after Blaise watched our debate, after I'd lifted his curse, that he offered his own help. Even though I'd seen his memories, he said it would be easier for us to gain access if he led us there. I foolishly agreed, thinking he had seen how terrible the situation would be for his own trial; that in order to help himself he must help us, too."

Lucius paused and took a long drink of his tea. He wiped his mouth in an ungentlemanly manner, but didn't seem to care any longer. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed and forced.

"We were both taken in by his last desperate attempt to save his own skin. Narcissa and I penned a joint letter to the ministry, alerting them of what we knew, asking for them to send immediate assistance- telling them of our own plans. And we wrote a message to Draco as well. Our activities were being monitored and restrained, so we did not have regular access to the owl post and our floo was also blocked. All our correspondence came through a ministry mandated owl, once a day, in the evening. So we set the letter for the aurors, for help, in the post box and then we gathered ourselves and waited until dark. We wanted to leave ourselves enough time that the ministry would receive our call for help before we reached the cottage.

"Narcissa hated to wait those extra hours, but we did. And like the fool that I was, I- we both- trusted Zabini and left him free, though I watched him as carefully as possible. But our minds were full of the pending…rescue mission, and I missed the way he'd carefully swiped the letter to the ministry and the message for Draco."

"I was going to say, I never received a thing," Draco broke in. "That's why it took me so long to figure out something was wrong."

Lucius sent him a kind, but sad, look and shook his head. "There was nothing anyone could have done, save myself. If I had only realized-" He stopped short, took another drink.

"Well, go on," Ginny spoke up. "I can't take this much longer," she added quietly and Hermione reached over, took her hand and squeezed it.

"Yes, please, Lucius," she said, looking to him. "Finish your story."

He didn't bother to look at either of them that time.

"We followed Zabini and concealed ourselves outside the cottage to wait for his signal. It didn't come and instead the Death Eaters began firing at us from inside the cottage. I managed to incapacitate one of them and Zabini escaped past me while Narcissa dueled with the other. Where he went after that, I don't know- it was enough to register with both of us that he'd betrayed us and that help would probably not come.

"Then the one I was battling hit me with that damned curse. I heard Narcissa finish him seconds later, but while her back was turned, the one she was fighting sent the killing curse at her. I called to her, warned her, but I was wrought with pain. I couldn't see to fire my wand and I knew Narcissa was gone before I saw her broken body. I-" He hunched over, took a shuddering breath that rattled in his chest like a snake; felt his throat constrict with the fresh grief of it all. "I killed the bastard myself, managed to throw enough wayward curses that I finally hit him even while he still had his wand trained on me, torturing me. But I killed him outright," he finished. His face was ashen and his eyes squeezed shut, as if he were reliving those moments.

But then, Hermione knew he was. She did the same thing, night after night. As did Ginny, and Draco. None of them could help it. Like she'd told Ginny earlier, grief like that never truly went away. One never got rid of the memories.

They would haunt them all forever.

Lucius finally opened his eyes after a long silence, his lashes wet with tears.

"And that is all I know. All I can tell you. I wish it were more, but as it is-"

"It's more than enough," Hermione answered, and poured herself more tea with a shaky hand. There was another tense stretch of silence and then Ginny spoke.

"So that bastard I've been feeding and taking care of the last two weeks knew about us. He knew, for two whole weeks, and he hadn't been compelled to stay silent, hadn't been forced to help torture- but he did anyway. He left us in there to rot for two weeks longer than we needed to- and likely wasn't going to come forward any time soon. He _knew_," she ended in a sharp whisper, then covered her face again.

"Oh, god," she moaned. "That's what he meant, when he said he hated owing me anything. That's what he meant- and he thought I knew about it, and that's why I'd chosen him in the first place-" She let out a harsh laugh. "As if I'd want anything to do with him if I'd known that? As if I'd have let him live this long? Oh, god!"

Hermione watched her friend begin to break down and set her tea cup down, knelt before her. She could feel her own insides working, urging her to lose her breakfast, to lose her own mind.

Instead, she resolutely stood up again, turned to Draco and Lucius, both. Draco's cheeks were wet, she could see, and she was suddenly grateful for his sympathy; but it didn't change the fact that they were intruders. An apology in her eyes, she held her hands up helplessly.

"Go," she said. "Please, get out." Her voice rose in pitch and she knew she was on the verge of hysteria, herself. Ginny continued to sob and threw her arms about Hermione's waist, burying her face against her stomach. Hermione put one hand on her head, looking down at her sadly. She glanced up again at Draco, who was standing and just helping his father from his chair. Lucius was staring at Ginny, his face pinched with sorrow of his own.

"Get out!" Hermione hissed again. "_Please."_

Lucius finally tore his eyes away and allowed Draco to hurry him from the room and through to the kitchen, to the outside. Then Hermione wrapped her arms around Ginny's shoulders as her friend continued to sob and shake against her; and she let herself go as well, while they clung to each other.

Outside, the sun continued to shine brightly.

* * *

**AN: And fucking birds sang.**

**I considered adding that to the last line, but thought I'd best not. Might ruin the mood. So I put it here, immediately below. XD Happy Margot is happy, but still evil.**


	28. Hands Are Tied

**I don't own Harry Potter, STILL. Rarararar!**

**AN: And I have achieved burnout. Oh, hell.**

**J. Kovac, stop reading my fan fiction and study for your exams. Yes, I just called you out. And that goes for all you other readers. Stay in school! ;) Eau-bleu, you have disabled PMs so I couldn't respond to your review and tell you thanks and such. So, thanks and such. I'm so glad to air all the private things I have to say out here, where everyone can see. But I guess I shouldn't hide my love. I hope you're enjoying The Better Claim. Mwah.**

**Finally, letting you know that the aforementioned story, The Better Claim, was nominated over at the Dramione Awards on Live journal (just search LJ) and voting for the seconding phase (which ends April 30th) is going on right now. I'd love to make it to the finals. Please vote for me. Vote for me so hard.**

**Hmm…I think there's a chapter around here somewhere.**

**Oh, I lied. This is turning into an epic AN, isn't it? Just wanted to add that I'm totes on Twitter under MargotGentry, so feel free to follow me and I will follow you back. I don't talk about my writing all the time, but some of my other ramblings are fun. Occasionally. You know, for those of you in love with my AN's, they're sort of like a condensed version. But not always. **

**Meh, chapter.**

* * *

Draco stood on the porch, watching as his father stumbled down the steps and into the sunshine. Lucius stopped a few meters away and bent over at the waist, dropping his cane and putting his hands on his knees. He was breathing hard and his long hair fell across his face, hiding the tears there from his son.

But Draco knew he was crying, nonetheless. Mostly because he was still crying, himself. He leaned against one of the posts and then slid down against it until he was sitting, still propped up by the post. He just didn't have the energy to support himself just then. It was a miracle either of them had made it from the living room before Hermione had really lost it.

Of course, that was a bad idea, thinking of Hermione, because then he was thinking of how sad, how grieved she'd looked as she'd heard Lucius' tale. And that only made him think of how awful Ginny had looked, which in turn brought him back to why they both looked that way- it was a terrible cycle. He reached into himself for a shred of his old habit of compartmentalization, found himself lacking, and slumped over to rest his head in his hands.

Lucius ignored his son as caught his breath, then toppled backwards and sat down hard on his ass. He dropped his cane beside himself and sat there, leaning back on his hands, one leg drawn up and the other stretched out. The breeze picked up briefly, then died down again.

He felt strangely…alive. Strangely free. It didn't make him feel any better, or happier, but there was a relief that came with the telling; with finally letting others know the truth of what had happened that dreadful night. He gazed up at the wide blue expanse of sky and breathed deep, then looked over to the porch, to his son.

Draco was still sitting, looking utterly lost. Lucius called to him.

"Come sit with me."

Draco jerked his head up and saw his father there, in the grass, motioning to him. Wearily, he stood up and wandered over, then plopped down beside him.

"Really, Dad?" he said. "Sitting in the grass? What's next, cloud watching?"

"I know I deserve that," Lucius said and Draco started to protest, to apologize, but his father cut him off. "I do. I deserve all your censure, your anger. No matter how much you love me, these last years haven't been easy. You deserved to know the truth long ago, too. I should have been braver, I should have been a father you could be proud of. And I'm sorry for that. I only hope you can forgive me, someday, and forgive yourself, as well."

"For what? For all the things I should have done, too?" Draco said and Lucius shook his head.

"No, for hating me even while you loved me."

Draco froze, but a parade of expressions made their way across his face while he stared at his father. His face finally crumpled and he looked away, willing the tears to recede. He opened his mouth, tried to speak, shut it again. His father sat there, gazing off across the hills, not saying anything either. Just quiet acceptance.

It wasn't like Draco could really deny it, after all. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, he cleared his throat.

"Thanks, Dad."

Lucius merely smiled sadly and continued to watch the world around him. Nearby, birds hopped about where Hermione had scattered some seed. Ahead of them, a butterfly and some bees flitted and buzzed about the thick stand of flowering shrubs at the head of the rather wild garden. The fickle breeze carried a myriad of scents to them through the hot midday air. Pine, ash, holly, boxwoods. All flowering and with new, green growth.

But over it all Draco could still smell that blasted orange and juniper. And she wasn't even anywhere near them- He stopped, leaned his head over, and suddenly sniffed at his shirt.

Merlin's fucking balls. It was in the laundry detergent, too. And what else was there? A note of…lavender? No, rosemary. Oh, for fuck's-

"Just realized that everything in the house smells like her, did you?" Lucius asked from his other side and he looked over at his father, a blush staining his cheeks. One of Lucius' brows was raised inquiringly and Draco sighed.

"Is that it?"

"Mm, yes," Lucius replied nonchalantly. "And I'm sorry for what I said to you about her, earlier, as well. You didn't deserve that. It was quite uncalled for."

"You're right about that much. It's not as if I'm in love with her. I just feel sorry for her."

"And she feels sorry for you."

"Yeah, that's about it."

Draco drew his knees up and wrapped his arms about them, hooking his hands together in front and stared off at the shrubs moodily. Lucius nodded sagely and would have made some remark, but Draco looked at him sharply and suddenly silenced him.

"Don't. It's peaceful out here and we're both upset from what just happened in there, so can we please just enjoy it without you picking at me again?"

Lucius pursed his lips and Draco rolled his eyes.

"You know," he said, "I think I almost prefer the old you." He cracked a smile at his dad a second later, but Lucius merely raised that imperial brow once more.

"I prefer him, too," he murmured. Draco's grin fell and he put a hand to Lucius' shoulder, letting his legs sprawl beside his father's.

"Aw, Dad," he whispered.

And watching the birds and insects make their happy lives, they remained, unmoving, in companionable misery.

* * *

Ginny recovered herself slowly and after a solid fifteen minutes of tears, she finally lifted her head and unlatched her arms from Hermione's waist.

"Oh, god," she mumbled, wiping her cheeks and blowing her nose again. "That didn't really just happen, did it?"

Hermione sat down beside her and shrugged, blowing her own nose and raking a hand through her frizzing hair.

"Afraid it did," she said quietly. "I suppose we should call Harry, now. That's all the proof we need about Zabini, isn't it?"

Ginny stopped and stared at Hermione in horror. "Harry?"

"Well- yes. He is an auror. It's his job to know- and I know he can help."

"Oh, hell," Ginny said, and hung her head in her hands again. "Oh, hell."

"Gin? What is it?"

"Harry," Ginny wailed. "I was supposed to meet him for lunch today!"

"So? It's not- oh. It is noon, already. Where were you supposed to meet?"

"The café- but by now he'll be wondering where I am-"

"Ginny, hold off. What's the problem? We need to talk to him anyway-"

"Yes, but not like this!" Ginny shrieked, gesturing to herself, then Hermione. "We look a complete mess, and my make-up's all run off, and I need a bath, and I just can't, Hermione! Not right now, not after all that." She looked dreadfully close to tears again and Hermione sighed, rubbed at her own face, and finally put an arm about her friend's shoulders.

"Alright. Then why don't I call him and leave a message for you-"

"No, he'd just come out here then, probably, or call and insist on speaking with me-"

"Ginny, he'll be doing all that anyway the longer you let it go. But if you'd rather leave him a message yourself, why not go home and then come back? You know, get a change of things from your flat and then come back here so we can finish discussing what you _do_ want to do about it all."

Ginny paled. "My flat."

"Yes, your flat-" Hermione stopped as suddenly. "Oh. That's right."

"Yeah. Zabini." Ginny began to look very nervous. Then the expression was replaced with an encroaching anger. "Zabini. That fucking-"

"Ginny, stop it. You're just going to upset yourself again."

"Hermione, how can you be so calm about it? That was your life, too. And- and Malfoy's mother, even! She died to help save us, died because fucking Zabini betrayed them!"

"One of us has to be calm. You think I'm not coming apart inside? I just held you and cried my eyes out with you for the second time today. Don't try to turn this around-"

But Ginny was not to be consoled, or calmed.

"I'm going to kill him," she hissed suddenly and then spun on her heel.

"Ginny-" Hermione grabbed for her, but she was out the door and running before Hermione could catch her. Heading straight down the drive, to get clear of the wards.

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. If Ginny left now, confronted Zabini now, while she was still so upset, so distraught…nothing good could come of it.

Hermione reached for the phone first, ready to dial Harry's number. But no, it wasn't like he had a cellular. She quickly dialed his beeper number instead, running to the front door and keeping Ginny in her sights as she did.

The phone rang, and the pager registered the number. She couldn't leave a message, but Harry would know it was an emergency…except Harry wouldn't get it in time, and even when he did, he'd have to call her. And what if he'd forgotten his pager, left it at home? What if Ginny got there first and managed to cause some kind of damage anyway? Or worse, Blaise did? After all, no warding was perfect. Even the best of spells could be broken if under enough stress.

Hermione lowered the phone and gazed out the door, her face pale. Then she threw the phone onto the hall table and took off out the door, herself.

"Ginny!" she yelled after her retreating friend. "Ginny, wait!"

She was kicking up dust, and the wind was blowing her hair all around, but she didn't care. Her simple flats that were fine for around the house didn't want to stay on her feet and the pebbles of the drive bit into the soles, but it didn't matter. She suddenly had nothing but visions of Ginny storming into her flat and all hell breaking loose. It wouldn't work. It was a terrible idea. Mob mentality never ended well- hadn't they seen it destroy their own lives? She ran faster. She had to stop Ginny, somehow.

* * *

Draco and Lucius heard Hermione yelling for Ginny at the same time. They both turned and stared at the house, then heard the sound of a door banging shut. Seconds later a phone began ringing. Draco leapt up and helped his father stand. They glanced at each other, identical thoughts in their heads.

"You go," Lucius said at the same time Draco murmured, "You get the telephone."

They nodded to one another and then Draco was running, into the house, leaving the door wide open for his father. He paused in the living room long enough to see that neither woman was there and then headed out the front door.

Meters ahead of him, far down the drive, he could see Hermione running and calling after another speck of dust that looked suspiciously red-headed.

He immediately joined the pursuit. His long legs began to overtake Hermione and he called out to her.

"Hermione!"

His voice broke her concentration and she turned her head to see who it was, making her miss her footing and go tumbling down.

She'd been running so fast she actually rolled over before sliding to a stop, but it didn't impede her progress, not entirely. She was scrambling to her feet again and yelling after Ginny like nothing had happened a moment later. Draco caught up to her and Hermione glared at him before her face collapsed back into worry, one arm gesturing in the red-head's direction.

"Draco, Ginny- her flat- Zabini-"

She didn't have to say anything else, because Draco grabbed her hand and immediately put on an extra burst of speed. In seconds he was dragging Hermione along behind him as she struggled to keep up. Hermione's heart was fluttering in her throat at all the possibilities and she wanted nothing more than to be back in her living room, discussing things like the adults they were supposed to be.

At least _pretending_ to be civilized and not the bundles of issues and psychotherapy they actually were.

They flew down the driveway, feet pounding, breath coming short and hard, sun beating down on them- and then there it was, the end of the lane. The fence marking the line of the wards. And Ginny was just sliding to a halt over it.

Hermione pulled back hard on Draco's hand and he slowed, let Hermione pass him. Ginny didn't turn around, ignoring them both as she looked down the road both ways to check for vehicles.

Hermione opened her mouth, extended her hands to her friend, started to smile-

And Ginny disappeared.

Hermione gave a little scream and ran forward those last few steps. "Ginny!" she yelled. "Ginny! Oh my god-" She spun back around and looked at Draco with such terror, such need, that he felt something pull at him from deep inside. He stepped forward.

"The phone was ringing as I came after you. Dad said he would get it, but we didn't know what the problem was. Will whoever it is-"

"No," Hermione said shortly. "No, that would be Harry, calling me back. But he doesn't know…though he might guess at something. I don't know." She frowned and leaned against the fence, turned her head to look at the spot Ginny had vacated. Her arms were around her middle as she tried to hold herself still from the sheer nerves.

"Damn it," she murmured. "Not now. She always did have a temper, but she doesn't need this now. No one does."

She suddenly thrust her chin up and then stared hard at the spot where Ginny had been. She sighed, ran a hand through her tangled locks, and sighed again. The seconds ticked by. There was something building in the air around her; and Draco nearly took a step back when he recognized that it was more than tension; it was resolve. Which would have been alright, except he didn't know what she was resolving.

Then she turned her eyes on him and the old set of her jaw, the determination on her face, nearly obliterated the effect of her scars. He narrowed his eyes, lifted his own chin in response to that authority.

She'd reached a decision and he was prepared to follow her, whatever it was.

"Draco," she said, "I haven't apparated in nearly eight years."

He knew immediately what she meant to do.

"I can't help you there," he replied. "I've done it more recently than that, but you know I'm not allowed any magic-"

"That's not what I meant," she said and he frowned slightly, suddenly confused. His brow cleared again a moment later.

"Oh," he said. More seconds ticked by. He knew Ginny might not have that time, she was so out of her mind. He held out his hand.

"Alright, then."

Hermione didn't smile gratefully, or nod her head, or say thank you, but she didn't need to. He understood, and his face said so. So she simply took his hand and closed her fingers about his tightly; and her eyes met his for a brief, glorious second of acceptance.

Then Hermione looked down at their intertwined fingers and with a mutter of, "Like riding a bicycle," they turned on the spot.

* * *

The phone rang for a tenth time before the voice telling him he needed more change came on again and Harry slammed the receiver down once more.

"Damn it all!" he swore, much to the shock of a passing mother and child who were on their way to the loo. Harry shot them a chagrined glance, then dug in his pocket for more change. He'd picked the muggle café because it was quaint and somewhat romantic and Ginny had been there once before, and had liked it. He'd remembered her mentioning it from an outing with Clearwater, once, and of course he'd been saving that information for use on just such an occasion as this.

And instead, Ginny was twenty minutes late; the baristas kept shooting him dirty glances for hogging an entire table when it was just himself; and to top it all off, Hermione had paged him and now wasn't answering her phone.

One more call, he told himself and inserted more coins. One more call and then I'll have to go there right away- she only pages for emergencies- and what if it's something to do with Ginny anyway-

"Er, hello?" said a raspy, older male voice.

That wasn't a good sign.

"Is this Lucius?" Harry asked quickly. "Where's Hermione? What's happened?"

"I don't really know," Lucius replied.

"What took you so long?"

"The- telephone-" and he said the word so disdainfully that Harry nearly wanted to laugh. Nearly. "Er, was not on its stand. I had to find it. And my mobility is rather limited at the moment. I'm not as quick on my feet as I once was."

Yes, and thank heaven for that, Harry thought silently. Aloud he said, "So? Hermione? You really don't know anything?"

"I know," said Lucius, "that Miss Granger and Miss Weasley were here just minutes ago. They seem to have left the house now and were headed down the driveway. Draco went after them, as it appeared that Miss Granger was distressed, since she was calling after her friend."

"But nothing else?" Well, that was alright. Just one of their fights- although they had occasionally been volatile. He would go anyway, just to check up.

"Their disposition may have had something to do with me," Lucius responded cautiously. "We were discussing upsetting material- at their request," he added hastily, hearing Harry seething on his end.

"And are they still there?" Harry asked quietly.

"I really cannot say, but Draco ran after them. One moment, please."

Harry heard Lucius set the phone down and assumed he'd gone to call for them, or check outside. A minute later the older man picked up again.

"I can no longer see them from the house."

"Damn!" Harry exclaimed, catching the mother and child on their way back from the loo. He nodded apologetically again. The mother glared at him. He sighed and turned his attention back to the phone. "You're sure?"

"My eyesight is not what it used to be-"

"Ok, Lucius, alright. Stay there. I'm going to check Ginny's flat first and if I can't find her there, I'll come straight out to the farm and help you look."

"Quite," Lucius replied. He resisted the urge to ask Harry exactly where the younger wizard thought he might go, in the meantime. Not that it mattered, as Harry hung up a second later with no response, due to his tearing from the cafe.

There was a click and Lucius put the phone back on its stand gingerly, then stood back and eyed it for a moment. Much to his embarrassment, he'd lied to Potter. He'd missed only Potter's first call from searching for the phone. The other eight accidental hang-ups after that were because he couldn't figure out which button to press to answer the call.

Infuriating, incomprehensible muggle devices.

From its stand, the phone beeped at him and he stumbled back from it. Then, with a regal sneer at the device, he walked out the front door and settled himself on the front steps to wait for someone- anybody- to return. He couldn't say that he was truly worried for his son- Draco was nobody's fool, not after all he'd gone through to keep them on the run, then keep them safe in prison. But Miss Granger, and Miss Weasley…they were another matter. Besides, if being worried for them had been good enough for Narcissa, it could be good enough for him, now.

From inside the house phone beeped again, but this time Lucius ignored it and continued to stare stalwartly down the road, waiting.

* * *

**AN: Ooooh, the melodrama, aaaah!!!!! Help me, save me from the melodramaaa...*gurglegurgle***


	29. Nobody's Fool

**I don't own it...yet. Nah, just kidding. Don't own it, ever.**

**AN: Oh my gawd, y'all are whiny bitches, aren't you? I leave one little accidental cliffhanger and suddenly you're all pawin' all over me, with your "Waaah! Update more! Update soooon! I can't take it!!!!"**

**I have to admit, I love it. (The noise, the noise, I live for the noise!) So here's part three of the final revelation. (Counting from chapter 27, with Lucius' story. The next chapter will contain Blaise's good stuff, making it a four part arc. Sort of.) I stayed up past my bedtime just to write this shit, so you guys better be grateful.**

* * *

Blaise barely registered that the front door had opened before Ginny was on him.

It was rather like a gnat being at one's ear. Annoying, more than anything else. He could hear her, and see her, but he couldn't really feel anything, although she was trying her best to tear him limb from limb.

Well, he supposed that answered his question of what she was doing over at Granger's, which was finding out about himself, obviously.

"You fucking bastard! I hate you! How could you ever- you should be dead, I wish you were dead-"

Blaise managed to get the upper hand over her madly flailing limbs and fists finally and coshed her upside the head. She stumbled back from him, holding her head, her eyes wide, and stared at him.

"I hate-" she began and Blaise cut her off, rubbing at the spots she'd landed her blows. They didn't hurt, but they were a little sore. Like being pinched.

"Yeah, I hate you too, Weasley," he spat back and Ginny's face turned pink, then red, then went pale again. He watched her warily and realized that her cheeks were tear stained, eyes red-rimmed. She'd clearly been crying for half the morning.

He felt maybe a little bad about that. And then she attacked him again, pulled her wand, began yelling finite incantatems at him. That was when he realized she really did mean business; and if she removed many more wards, he'd be a sitting duck.

"Oy, Weasley, you can't-"

"Oh, I can't? Just like you couldn't help us back then because you were Imperioused, boo-hoo?"

Blaise continued to edge away. "I was Imperioused, Weasley! I couldn't help-"

"You weren't!" Ginny screamed at him, but he'd captured her attention enough that she'd stopped undoing the wards. "You were only their errand boy," she spat at him. "Their scavenger. You could have told the Malfoys, gone to the aurors anytime! I know now." Tears were streaming down her face again- tears of rage, and Zabini did not miss the distinction. He felt something- was this the guilt finally tugging at him? The pain he'd known all that time ago, wondering what he could do for them, if he should do anything?

He took too long to respond, to parry her attack and she raised her wand again.

"I know now, just like you knew back then. And you did nothing. And would've kept doing nothing, you fucking bastard. Two weeks!" she howled. "Two weeks more of that hell-"

"What was two more weeks when you'd already been there months?" he shot back and knew immediately it was the wrong things to say. His face fell, eyes went wide as he watched Ginny process what he'd said. Finally, her face broke into an awful, disbelieving smile.

"Are you really that stupid? That you'd say something like that?" She advanced on him slowly and he continued to back away. But to his benefit, she was so angry, so out of her mind that she'd practically forgotten the wand in her hand. That, or she was just toying with him, trying to make him suffer hope before she sprang upon him and ended it all.

"I didn't-" he tried to speak and quickly found a silencio being cast at him. So, she knew the wand was in her hand. She leveled it at him again and there was a pause, as if the entire apartment was holding its breath, waiting for what would happen next.

But she'd misjudged his level of terror and instinct for self-preservation, because the crucio hit his bedroom door just as it closed, just as he dashed inside for his life. Ginny tried the handle. It was stuck. She pounded on the door uselessly, knowing that the failsafe wards Harry had cast must've set in once she'd started removing the others.

"Zabini!" she yelled anyway. "You can't hide in there! I'll get you- you better be jumping out the window now and saving me the fucking trouble, you bloody coward! You fucking, bloody-" She gasped and her beating of the door grew suddenly weaker as the adrenaline left her system. "Fucking, bloody-"

Sobbing uncontrollably, Ginny pushed herself away from his door and immediately blew up several pieces of her furniture, flicking her wand at them one at a time.

"I hate you!" she groaned, sinking to her knees in the debris of the small living room. "I hate you, you bloody bastard- I hate- you…"

Her voice trailed off and was covered by her sobs as she bent over at the waist; crawling on the floor in her grief, and misery; and feeling as if all dignity had been lost long ago.

* * *

Hermione and Draco reappeared, after an extremely rough ride, in an alleyway that was unfamiliar to himself. They collided into one another upon arriving and then into the nearby wall and Draco landed on top of Hermione, trapping her against said wall. He felt all the breath leave him and heard a similar grunt coming from Hermione.

"Bloody hell," he murmured and then quickly stepped away from Hermione, who promptly slid down the wall and landed in a heap without his support. She coughed some, then rubbed her eyes and peered up at Draco, who was checking himself for splinching.

"I seem to be all here," he muttered and Hermione raised an eyebrow- ah, that was good. She still had them both.

"Really? I think you're missing something," she said and he immediately whirled around and knelt beside her.

"What? What is it? Is there blood- am I bleeding?"

"No, but I think you lost something right…inside…here," she finished, poking at his forehead. He glared at her, then grinned and rubbed the spot she'd poked.

"Thanks, think they'll have trouble putting it back?" he said snidely a moment later and was rewarded with a tired smile.

"Oh, I think they'll be able to manage something. You may have lost some of your charm, though."

He rolled his eyes, then stood and helped Hermione up. "That's alright. I can grow more charm any day. It's much harder to grow back such a perfect face, though."

Hermione smacked him and checked herself. She turned around for Draco.

"I'm all here," she said and he nodded. They were both all there, although he felt like he had a splitting headache and Hermione looked a little green around the edges.

"You are," he replied. "So am I."

"We're both all here," she affirmed and he nodded again.

"That's what I just-"

"Draco," she said slowly, "I haven't done that in eight years. And we're both all here."

And then her knees gave out. He caught her and helped her stand again.

"Whoa, are you going to be alright?"

"I…I think so," she said, feeling at her forehead. "Let's just get to Ginny's. I'm not sure exactly where we are right now."

"Do you need to rest?"

"No," she replied. "I'll live. We need to-" She paused, the green color now accompanied by a sudden sheen of sweat. Hermione tried again. "Ginny-"

And she fainted. He caught her again and then slowly knelt, lowering her back to the ground as well, then began waving at her face and calling her name softly.

Draco really, really, hoped she hadn't splinched any internal organs; because if she wasn't sure where they were, he doubly wasn't sure; and he had no way of getting them any help.

* * *

Harry didn't bother apparating to an alley, or the garden behind Ginny's building. No, in his fear he went directly to the landing outside her door. He knew something was the matter inside as soon as he lifted a hand to knock; could feel that multiple wards had been broken and that his own fail-safes had kicked in, as they should've. Well, that was one good thing- his spell work had held up. And it also let him know that she was there, had been there. He knocked a little louder when he didn't get an immediate response.

"Ginny?" he called again. Still nothing. His heart was beating madly. He didn't know what had set her off; but if she was in a temper and Zabini was in there with her; and on top of it, someone had been messing with the wards, well. He wasn't Head Auror for nothing. He did have a brain. He pounded a little harder and finally, faintly, he could hear something: crying.

Pulling his wand, he unlocked the door the old-fashioned way- with some lock picking spells only the aurors knew- and then started to push the door open. Except it wouldn't quite move. Something was blocking its path. He shoved a bit harder and finally squeezed inside. He looked behind the door and found there was part of an armchair wedged against it. He frowned.

Harry lifted his head and scanned the rest of the interior; found more destroyed furniture. Then his eyes landed on the redheaded witch huddled in the middle of the mess.

"Ginny," he said and rushed over to her, knelt down, and began checking her over with his wand. She continued to sob quietly throughout the procedure, never saying a word. When he tried to take her by the arms and lift her, she finally showed more life and started to shake her head.

"No, no," she mumbled and tried to pull away, but he held her fast.

"Ginny, what's the matter? What happened here?"

She finally lifted her face to his. "Harry, I…" But she closed her eyes again and then curled up against him, still crying, and wrapped her arms about his waist.

Harry thought his heart was going to break all over. It was just like the night they'd come back. Just like that night…he put his arms around her and held her tightly. He'd get nothing from her when she was like this; not until she was ready to talk. And until then, she needed for him to simply be there, and be accepting. Somewhere in the back of his mind the fact that he should check for Zabini registered, but it seemed wholly unimportant in the face of the needs of the woman he loved.

With her firmly in his arms, he rested his cheek on top of her head and waited.

* * *

Back in the alley, Draco finally saw Hermione's lids flicker again. He patted her cheek.

"Hermione! Wake up! Come on, we have to get to Ginny, remember?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed, attempted to sit up- fell back against Draco again. To say he was worried was an understatement.

"Hermione? Are you-"

"I'm here," she said. "I'm alive. I just felt like a sledgehammer has been taken to my cranium, all of the sudden-"

"What's a sledgehammer-"

"Big and dangerous. Cracks rocks."

"Ah. My head is pounding, too," he replied. "But that's nothing new, really."

Hermione squinted at him strangely. "You have headaches often?"

"Stress, I think," he replied. "It's hard to tell."

"You should have said something," she chastised him suddenly. "I could have given you something for the pain, or maybe tried a massage-" She winced and put a hand to her temple. Draco pretended he wasn't just turned on that she'd offered to give him a massage.

"While you were out," he said, "I think I may have figured out where we are."

"Really?" Hermione asked and took both hands to her temples.

"Yes. I think we're near Sirius'."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "That would make…sense," she said finally. "I haven't done that in so long, and of course the last place I came to in London was his place- and that's where you'd been, too." She looked satisfied. "Well, that solves that problem. Except if that's the case, we're still twenty minutes from Ginny's, by tube, at least."

"Tube? Oh, the underground," Draco said comprehendingly. "I took it a few times when we were on the run. Fascinating," he added and was immediately sorry he'd said so for the look of utter amusement Hermione gave him.

"If you knew how much you sounded like Arthur Weasley just then," she began and he growled.

"Stop right there, Hermione."

She zipped her lips but continued to look smug as they walked along the sidewalk together. She paused before a particular house and Draco glanced up with her.

"Yeah, that's the spot," he said. Hermione nodded up at the sign that stated they'd arrived at Black's House for Men.

"Shall we?" she asked and then started slowly up the front steps. Draco hung back, suddenly confused.

"What? Where are you-"

Hermione paused and looked back down at him. "I don't have the energy to get to Ginny's, Draco," she said. "Not to mention no money or tube fare. I should have thought this through better, but there it is. So if we want help, this is where we have to go."

"I…" His voice trailed off and he started to look very nervous. "Do I have to go inside with you?"

Hermione tilted her head. "Yes, Draco. You do. I can't leave you out here, even if I wanted to. It's part of the wards on you. If you're off my property, you have to be in my company." Her expression softened. "I'm sorry."

Draco shook his head quickly and then jogged up the steps to stand beside her. He reached for the front door, held it open.

"It's not your fault," he said, though the position brought home to him just how inequal their positions were. Society treated him like half a man; how would she ever see him as more than that?

Stop being foolish, he told himself as he followed Hermione into the dim entry hall. There's nothing there to worry over, anyway. Like either of you could ever love the other. Like she could ever love someone else, in the first place.

Shaking his head again, he started up the inner staircase after her, scoffing at himself. Actually, once he thought about it, love had absolutely nothing to do with either of their positions at the moment.

And if he was smart, it would stay that way.

* * *

A fly buzzed about Lucius and he swatted at it, his expression grim. It had been close to an hour and still, no word. He began to worry in earnest.

* * *

**AN: Poor Lucius. LOL**


	30. A Little Too Late

**I don't own Harry Potter or make any money here, aaarrrrrrgh!**

**AN: Fact- This thing is getting so convoluted I can't remember what I meant to write. I have to go back and reread whole sections of other chapters just to figure out what the fuck is going on.**

**And on the eighth day, God made Draco. I want a window decal that says that- an assortment of them that I can switch out according to my mood. Do they already exist somewhere? Does anyone know? Or it could say, "On the eighth day, J.K. made Draco," if you wanted to be really, really sacrilegious.**

**Moving on. Holy mother-licking crap, people. Thirty chapters. I'm not sure I can feel my eyeballs any longer.**

* * *

Sirius hid his surprise at seeing Hermione and Draco rather well, for all the coughing and sputtering he did at first. He stood up from his desk and strode towards them, stopping a few feet away, arms akimbo, and looked from one to the other several times before settling on Hermione.

"Love, this isn't the grocer's. You can't just return some bad fruit whenever you li- oof!"

Draco looked at Hermione's extended hand, the finger prodding Sirius' stomach, with approval.

"We're not here for a return, as you so tastefully put it. We're here because I just apparated us here and I don't have the energy to get us where we really need to be."

"And where is that?" Sirius asked, before his eyes went wide. "Wait, you apparated?"

"That's what I just said," Hermione replied. She was looking a little less green and more pale, but Draco couldn't tell if that was the lighting, or not. He moved closer anyway, in case her knees decided to give out again.

"Hermione, love-"

"I'm not your love, Sirius," she said, prodding him again and he moved back, held his hands up.

"Prickly today, are we?"

"I'm prickly everyday. Now, we're trying to get to Ginny's."

"Ah, is this a house party?" he asked, winking at her cheekily, with a nod in Draco's direction. Draco wrinkled his nose at the same time Hermione did.

"We're just…visiting," she said.

"I'm sure. And this casual visit is so important that you had to apparate after years of swearing off magic-'

"Look, can you help us get there or not, you overgrown, mangy dog?" Draco finally broke in. "What Hermione does with me is no longer your bloody concern- if it was ever a concern of yours to begin with- and we're in a hurry. So why don't you just shut it and let the lady speak instead of continuing with your endless store of lewd remarks and innuendo. She doesn't need it, alright, and it's fucking insulting to all three of us, quite honestly."

Sirius gaped at him and he could feel Hermione's serious eyes watching his face as he glared at the other man, but he didn't give an inch. He held his breath, waiting for a reprimand, a verbal attack, anything. But then Sirius smiled broadly and clapped his hands together.

"Oh, ho, well done, young Mister Malfoy. Well done, indeed. Alright, then," he said, putting his hands on his hips again and facing Hermione once more. "What do you need?"

Hermione managed not to gape at either of them and crossed her arms. "Money for tube fare," she said promptly and Sirius shook his head.

"I can do you one better. I have a cycle out front. Here," he said, going back to his desk and scavenging about. "Take the keys," he added, tossing a ring of shiny objects to them.

Hermione caught them neatly and looked at the set of keys rather dubiously.

"Sirius, you know I don't like flying-"

"It's only enchanted to fly for me," he said patiently. "Had one too many accidents with me girlfriends and curious passerbys trying it out."

"Dating muggle girls?" Hermione asked curiously, still inspecting the keys.

"A few. But even witches have a hard time handling it," he said, winking. "If you know what I mean."

Hermione pulled a face at him, but he lifted his hands and shooed them.

"Go on, then. You have someplace to be. Don't let me stop you."

"Well…thanks, Sirius."

He made a magnanimous gesture. "Of course. See, I'm not so bad, am I?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned, motioning at Draco to follow her and then walked down the stairs. Sirius jogged after them, pausing at the door to pull a couple things from the hall closet.

"Oh, and you'll want these- some helmets," he offered. "Normally I go without, you know me, daring and whatnot- but I assume you also haven't ridden one of these in quite sometime."

Hermione and Draco accepted their helmets and stepped outside. Hermione turned to Sirius one last time and gave him a cheerful smile.

"Actually, I've never ridden one, let alone driven. But as you can't take us-"

"Don't!" Sirius replied, one hand over his heart. "Don't say another word! Just…take the keys and go. And leave it at Ginny's when you're done. For heaven's sake, don't try and take it anywhere else, please."

Hermione smirked at him- smirked! And then she and Draco were out the door, Sirius giving the motorcycle parked at the curb one last, wistful glance, before the heavy door shut firmly behind them.

Draco paused before getting on behind Hermione, who, for her part, had swung a leg over and kicked the stand quite expertly for all that she'd never ridden one before. She had to keep on her tiptoes, though, to balance it.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly as he adjusted the helmet on his head. Hermione peered up at him and gave him a small smile.

"It's our best option so far."

"Your headache-"

"Ginny," Hermione said firmly in response. "Now get on." Then she flipped the visor down and started the cycle, revving the engine experimentally a few times.

Draco took a deep breath, flipped his own visor down, and slid one long leg over the seat, settling into the space behind her.

"Put your arms about me!" she yelled back. "I don't want you falling off, god forbid."

He froze and stared at her back. Hell. Fucking, bloody hell. Think of Ginny, a voice in his still pounding head told him. Think of how Hermione must feel about all this. His arms finally went about her waist and he held them there loosely, trying not to let his chest touch her back.

"Tighter, Draco," she said. "If you break your bloody neck-"

He tightened them, felt her own sharp intake of breath, the adjustment to the situation they were both making; and then the motorcycle took off from the curb, shooting out into traffic; leaving his heart on the pavement behind them, he was certain.

* * *

By the time the motorcycle skidded to a stop outside the remodeled town home that housed Ginny's flat, Draco was sure he'd lost several other organs along the way, and perhaps a few limbs. Hermione squirmed in front of him, kicking the stand down and removing her helmet, setting her hair free. She made a displeased noise.

"Draco, you can stop hanging on for dear life now. We've stopped," she pointed out, then began pushing at his arms.

"Huh?" he asked through the helmet and she managed to turn her head and frown at him.

"Draco!" She knocked on the visor a couple times and he finally jerked his head back, pulled his arms away. Unbalanced, he toppled off the cycle and landed in a heap on the sidewalk. Hermione got off the bike with a little more dignity and knelt beside him. She gingerly removed his helmet for him and peered down at his face.

"Are you ok?"

"Will be, I think," he wheezed and put a hand to his chest, then laid his head back down. "Just have to catch my breath."

"Dear god, were you holding it this whole time?" she asked.

"Not…the whole time," he admitted. Hermione pursed her lips and shook her head, then stood up and held a hand out to him.

"Come on. I have to get up there and you have to come with me. Come on, up," she commanded. He took her hand and managed to pull himself to his feet as well, though he staggered some.

"You," he said, "are a terrible driver."

"I am, aren't I?" she replied with a rueful look at the cycle. "But I never get caught. Must be the witchy part of me."

"Must be," Draco responded, though he rather thought it was simply because no police officer in his right mind would want to get anywhere near her vehicle while she was actually driving it.

They took the stairs up two at a time, though Hermione was looking green again by the time they reached the top, and Draco put a steadying hand on her shoulder as they approached the door that was partially open.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat and she reached a hand up to Draco's, catching hold of it, and turned to look at him with wide eyes. His own face was grim and fearful and he moved ahead of her, cautiously pushing at the door some more. When it wouldn't budge, he put his shoulder to it and eased it open a few more inches. Hermione slipped in past him, Ginny's name on her lips.

From his place on the floor, Harry whirled about, wand out.

"Freeze!" he cried and Draco and Hermione obeyed. Harry relaxed as he saw who it was, though the arm that was still about Ginny tightened some; and Hermione rushed forward as Draco surveyed the damage to the apartment.

"Oh, Ginny," Hermione breathed and fell to her knees beside Harry and her friend. "How is she?" she asked, glancing up at Harry, daring to put a hand on Ginny's back. "What happened here?"

"I think the better question is, where is Zabini?" Draco asked and Harry shook his head.

"He's still here, he must be. My fail-safes kicked in, so I know he's not dead, or far from here."

"Ginny, what did you do?" Hermione asked the other woman gently and Ginny gave a shuddering sigh and finally turned her head, though her arms remained about Harry.

"I…I tried to kill him," she said hoarsely. "I wanted to kill him. The wards, I started to take them off and I cast-" She shook her head and burrowed back against Harry, shivering at the memory. "He was too fast for me, the bastard," she whispered. "Made it to his room just in time, or we'd both be in a lot more trouble."

"But your furniture-"

"That was me," Ginny sighed. "That was all me. I'm just…so tired…"

Harry looked from her to Hermione, his jaw set in anger.

"Would either of you like to let me know what's going on now?" he asked and Hermione gave him a scared glance, then tugged Ginny away from him and into her own arms.

"Go get us some water, and a rag," she murmured. Harry looked like he was ready to blow up some furniture, himself, and Draco waved a hand.

"I'll get it," he said and poked his head in a couple of open doors, searching for the kitchen. Finding it, he disappeared from sight.

Harry watched him go and turned back to Hermione. "Alright," he said. "Talk. I spoke with Lucius on the phone earlier and I know he was telling you all something that must have set her off."

Hermione nodded. "He was. We found out last week, when he woke up- rather, he said some things that made us think he knew something about…well, about it all. So today, when Ginny came over, we asked him to tell us what he knew."

Harry frowned. "Hermione, I told you I had one condition, and that was to let me question him if he presented any knowledge, or information, about anything. And now you're telling me that he did, that same day, and you didn't call me, first thing?"

Hermione gave him a sharp glance and he caught his breath.

"Like you've never kept secrets from us, Harry James Potter," she hissed. "And for your information I did want to tell you. But I couldn't say anything without bringing up Zabini, too, and Ginny didn't want to do that yet. She wasn't ready. It was too hard for both of us," she added. "It was too fucking much. We had to let it sink in, think about it some. Imagine, Harry," she went on, "if after all this time you found out something about your parents, or…Dumbledore. And you knew you needed to tell someone what you'd found out, even if it was going to hurt a lot of people. What would you have done? Would you say something right away? Just jump into things?"

Harry sat back. "It's not the same-"

"Of course it isn't the same!" Hermione cried. "I'm just trying to make you see, make you understand. There's a lot at stake, here. And anyway, you know now. You can question Lucius anytime you like," she ended, her tone belligerent. Harry decided not to push her.

"Alright, Hermione. You're right. It doesn't change the fact I wish you'd come to me sooner, but alright."

Draco reappeared with a glass of water in one hand and damp rag in the other. He handed them down to Hermione, who took them thankfully and prodded Ginny to sit up. The two men watched Ginny drink the water as Hermione wiped at her face; and finally the red-haired witch put the glass down and took the rag from Hermione, giving a deep sigh and closing her eyes.

"Thank you," she murmured. When she opened her eyes again, she found they were all watching her steadily, though Harry kept casting small glares at Hermione; and Draco was casting the same glares at Harry for looking at Hermione that way to begin with.

"What now?" she asked, voice still raspy.

"Well, if you think you can keep yourself from attacking Zabini again, it's time we heard from him," Harry said, trying to keep his voice light.

"I don't know," Ginny replied. "I think you'd better hold my wand." Then she turned her eyes to Hermione.

"And how did you get here so quickly, anyway?"

Hermione pressed her lips together. "Apparated," she said shortly. Both Ginny and Harry gasped.

"Yes, and we have splitting headaches for it, too," Draco added snarkily. "Now can we get on with this? For Merlin's sake, she is a witch, after all."

"But you're in one piece-" Harry began and Draco cut him off.

"Yes, well, she's still the fucking brightest witch of her bloody age, I reckon," he snapped and Hermione threw him an amused, but grateful glance; well aware he had no idea he'd just voiced her own thoughts from two weeks ago.

"Look," Hermione began, "go get Zabini, Harry, and let's get this over with. You can come out to the farm with us afterward and speak to Lucius about the rest of it."

"Alright," Harry replied. He stood and made his way to Zabini's room, leaving the women huddled on the floor, and Draco leaning against a nearby wall.

The three of them heard sound of a struggle, then a finite incantatem, followed by the howls of rage from Zabini. Harry appeared a few seconds later, hauling Zabini along by his shirt collar, wand trained on the captive wizard.

"Let go of me!" Blaise was snarling and Harry shook his head.

"Sorry, Zabini. You and I both know that's not going to happen. Now tell us whatever the hell it is you know."

Blaise looked at the three expectant faces before him and paled.

"You won't like it," he whispered, all life suddenly gone out of him.

"Just like we didn't like the mindless torture and rape?" Ginny shot back, although her voice sounded a bit dead to everyone's ears. She rubbed her face. "I'm so fucking tired of all of it, Zabini. Just tell us the truth and make it quick."

Blaise swallowed hard and Harry gave him a little shake.

"It's either tell us here, now, or I take you back to the ministry and do it there by forcing Veritaserum down your throat until you choke on it," he said quite calmly.

"Ok, I will! Just-" He stopped again, looked at Hermione, at Draco. His once acquaintance and ally didn't blink, just stared at him with a bored expression on his face. "Malfoy," he began and Draco glanced away, inspected his nails.

"Better start at the beginning, Zabini," he said. "You know, the part where you came to see my family and found these two with those Death Eaters? Or perhaps," he added when Zabini blanched, "you'd like to begin with how they Imperioused you into bringing them food from our kitchens and you did it for two weeks straight while these two continued to suffer? Or maybe, just maybe, it would be best to tell Potter, here, how you betrayed my parents when they finally found out about it and launched a rescue mission." He paused and glanced up at Blaise to find the other man glaring at him hatefully.

"No?" Draco said. "Oh, terribly sorry. I guess you wanted to tell that part, yourself. Please, be my guest," he added with a malicious little sneer.

"I wanted to help!" Zabini finally cried. "I did! But when I got there, the others, they could tell something was wrong. I was too nervous, too jumpy. They finally ordered me to talk to them and what could I do? I'd been fucking Imperioused, which was humiliating enough, by the way. So I told them and the battle started."

"Yes, and you saved your own skin!" Draco shouted back. "You left these two there to rot, and my parents to die and ran away like the fucking coward you are! You bested my own cowardice, you bloody moron!"

Hermione felt like she, Harry, and Ginny may as well not even be in the room, the two men were so focused on one another. She looked up at Draco with pity in her eyes and wanted to help him, make his anger at this fresh hurt better, but knew she couldn't do a damn thing.

One never could, in the face of so much sorrow.

"I went back," Blaise said, struggling against Harry suddenly, trying to get closer to Draco; as if that would make the other wizard more sympathetic, somehow. "I went back, after the fighting was over. I'm the one who took your father and mother back to your grounds. I saw Narcissa was dead, knew I couldn't do anything about that. But your father was still alive, so I levitated them both back to your property, tried to bury your mum-"

"You call that a burial?" Hermione suddenly broke in, unable to keep silent. "A shallow grave in her own woods, covered in leaves and rocks with no one to even mourn over her? And you just left Lucius there, catatonic? You bloody-"

"Yeah, alright?" Blaise yelled at her. "I know, ok? I know I was a fucking wanker, and coward, and every other sort of scum! But I had to think of myself, didn't I? My mother was on trial, too. And I knew I was next, and if anyone had found them anywhere near that cottage, especially when I'd just been visiting- I couldn't take the chance that I'd be associated with it. It would have made things so much worse-"

"But you were associated with it!" Hermione screamed at him, leaping to her feet. "The rest was just you covering your tracks so you wouldn't go down for something you didn't care about-" She turned to Harry. "You see?" she cried. "You see why neither Ginny or I wanted to deal with this? Oh, god-" She turned and stormed from the ruined apartment and Draco cast one last glance at Blaise and Harry, then followed her.

Harry gave Zabini a good shake and then threw him to the floor, wand still trained upon him.

"Tell me the rest," he said in a low voice. "Everything you know."

"That's it, I swear!" Blaise exclaimed. "After I moved the Malfoys I left. I went to London, got a hotel, went to my mother's trial."

"And just left the three of us to rot," Ginny added bitterly.

"I'm sorry for that," Blaise said suddenly, turning to her with a fierce expression. "I don't like you and I never have, but I'm sorry for that."

"Sorry?" Ginny said, incredulous. "I hope you're more than sorry. I hope you feel fucking guilty for the rest of your bleeding life."

"I went back," he shot back at her, then covered his mouth suddenly as Harry stared at him hard. "I didn't mean-"

"You said that was all you did, that you left and that was it," Harry prompted him. "What else do you know?"

Zabini hung his head, covered his face. "I went back. Merlin help me, but I did. I just kept thinking about what I'd seen those two weeks- I never participated in the torture, I swear, but the things I heard…once I was out from under the Imperious, it ate at me. So I went back after about a week, once Mother's trial was over. You lot were gone by then, but you hadn't arrived at the ministry yet."

"We were traveling that week," Ginny ground out. "Crawling in the mud in our bare feet to get to London." She spat. "And you didn't try to find us?"

He shook his head, looking actually ashamed. "I didn't. I went back to the cottage and when I didn't see you all, I assumed you'd made your escape. The other bodies were still there, inside and I…panicked. I knew you'd gone off to find yourselves help, knew that any day now the aurors would be combing the area looking for the cottage, so I-"

"You torched it," Harry said. "Just burned the whole place down. We found the blackened shell of the place, knew it had burned recently, but any chance we might've had of figuring out exactly what had happened was gone when you did that. You destroyed all the residue, all the fingerprints, all the magical properties." He shook his head disgustedly. "After that, and after all this time, we still don't know exactly who it was, no matter how much speculation, how many missing wizard reports we go over. But now that you're spilling your guts, you may as well tell us."

Zabini lifted his hands. "I don't know," he said, and his voice broke on a high pitched laugh. "I don't fucking know. Is that why you came back here? Why you're questioning me?" The laughter bubbled from his lips. "That's too much, isn't it? Because I just don't bleeding know a damn thing, otherwise. Oh, Merlin-"

Harry's fist connected with his jaw and Zabini went flying back. Ginny reached up, grabbed Harry's arm, and held him back.

"Harry-"

"Let me go, Gin," he said, voice dangerous.

"Harry, it- that doesn't matter now." Her voice was pleading and he turned to look down at her.

"Ginny, how can you say that?"

"Because…even to know this much, it's more than Hermione or I ever thought we'd have."

"You were ready to kill him, too."

"I was," she admitted, swallowing, and looked back at Blaise. Lord, she was so tired. "I still want to. But if he really doesn't know…there's nothing we can do about that. Those men, I believe they'd never reveal themselves to an outsider. They were too feral, too mistrusting. Too hateful," she finished softly, and tugged at his arm again. "Please, Harry."

Harry looked at her face for a long moment, then back at Zabini, who cowered on the floor. He swore and finally dropped his stance, turning to Ginny and embracing her tightly.

"Ok," he murmured against her hair. "What would you have me do, then?"

"Hermione should be here," she replied. "She should help decide."

"You're right," Harry allowed and then he sighed and let go of Ginny. "I'll go fetch her, see where they got off to. Will you be alright?"

Ginny shrugged. "I won't murder him while you're gone."

Harry snorted, knowing the fail-safes were still in place, and looked at Zabini briefly. "I almost wish you would," he said spitefully before he picked his way over the bits of furniture and out the door.

Ginny turned to Zabini and stared at him warily. He finally lifted his head and returned her look.

"What?"

"He's right," Ginny said. "I do want to kill you, or let him do it. But it wouldn't do any good. It's not going to help me regain my sanity, or my life. If that hasn't happened after all this time, nothing will help," she added bitterly. "And nothing will ever bring my brother back," she finished.

Zabini glanced up at her and his eyes remained on her face for a long second before he exhaled and slid his gaze away, attempting to sit up and rubbing at his jaw. Ginny froze and all the tendons on her neck stood out suddenly as her body tensed under the force of a realization.

"You do know something," she whispered, still unable to move.

Zabini didn't look up at her. "I already said, I don't know anything. I have no idea who those men were-"

"No," Ginny said, cutting him off, her motions stilted as she walked over to him slowly and stood over him. "That's not what I meant."

His eyes ran up her length until he reached her face again and their gazes locked. He licked his lips.

"I don't-"

"About Ron," Ginny continued, the set of her face brooking no argument. "You know something else about my brother."

He didn't answer, frozen under her stare even as she slowly lowered herself to crouch at his eyelevel.

"Tell me what it is," she said.

He tried to speak, really, he did, but his mouth wouldn't move, had gone dry anyway. He licked his lips again, tried to crawl backwards from her. One of her hands shot out and grabbed his shirt front, hauled him back towards her.

He hadn't realized she was so strong. Then again, she was furious with him. That must be part of it, he reasoned.

She gave him one more chance.

"Tell me what you know," she said again and unable to avoid her any longer, he lifted his eyes to hers, and Merlin help him, he told.

* * *

**AN: Oh, hell, I may have lied again. Looks like there's one more chapter to this bit. But come on. How many words long is this? Deal with it, people.**


	31. Against the Glass

**I don't own Harry Potter at all and never will and so make no profit except the knowledge that I'm bringing others little tidbits of joy.**

**AN: This is it for today, even if I am feverishly working on the next chapter. Suck it up. Oh, and it really is part five, so at least you find out what happened.**

* * *

Draco followed Hermione out of the flat and onto the landing. She didn't look at him, didn't say a word. Just leaned over the railing, her head in her hands, and tried to calm down. Forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. Draco hung back, watching her carefully; and after some minutes of that, she turned and took a few steps down the staircase; then promptly sat down and buried her face against her drawn up legs. Draco hesitated, then walked down after her and settled in beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder and to his surprise, she turned her head and rubbed her cheek against it briefly before hiding her face again.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked after another minute had passed.

"No," she whispered. "I just need a minute."

He refrained from pointing out they'd already been out there at least ten; after all, he knew what she meant. And besides, he didn't want to break the mood. The intimacy of her gesture a moment ago was not lost on him and all the hopeful things it could mean were beating through his heart just then. So, he let her sit and mourn and think and kept his hand right where it was. And after another minute, when she gave a small sigh and sort of leaned towards him, he did the natural thing and lifted his hand to slide the arm it was attached to about her shoulders. She settled against his side without a word.

He almost felt like a normal wizard, in that moment.

There were soft sounds of conversation filtering from the open doorway; but Ginny's many spells on the apartment itself were holding; and so the actual level of their shouts came across as mere whispers.

He didn't really care what they were saying, anyhow. Zabini could go hang.

About five minutes later, however, Harry stepped from the apartment.

"Hermione?" he called and then turned and saw her sitting below, on the steps. He took in Draco's position with surprise, but didn't say a word about it. He had other things on his mind just then, after all. "Hermione," he said a little more softly.

Hermione turned her head as he spoke to her again and Draco discretely slipped his arm from her shoulders without a word.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Zabini's told us what he knows. Ginny wants you to come in while we decide what to do about it."

"You take him to the ministry," Hermione replied, shrugging. "Isn't that what's supposed to happen?"

"It's not as simple as that," Harry said, crouching down. "If I take him in, we have to be prepared for all the consequences of that. Believe me, I wish I could just throw him to them, but if I do, Draco and his father will be raked into it again, too. I thought you didn't want that. Not to mention all the rioting the news will cause. You know what these people are like, Hermione."

"But we didn't do anything," Draco protested. "My parents helped them!"

"Yes," Harry replied, "and at another time, all that would have meant was your pardon. But with the way the ministry is right now…it's hard to say. Someone could easily twist things around on you. I've seen it happen, Malfoy. Time and again. In fact, your best bet right now is to stick with Hermione and let me help you escape properly, this time."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed and turned to Draco, her eyes wide. He was staring at Harry like he'd grown two heads.

"What are you talking about?"

"That's my business now, Malfoy. I'm sick of the way the ministry is acting. I started helping wizards like you and your father escape, years ago."

Draco's eyes widened. He could add, he wasn't a fool.

"The reason you were there, in that office that day-"

"Yes," Harry said. "And I'm sorry it went so badly. So let me make it up to you now. Or, if you want to take your chances, we can go ahead and bring Zabini in." He fixed a serious look on Draco. "But there's no guarantee the ministry will pardon you. I told Hermione, and I'm telling you. They're bloodthirsty, and something like this will no doubt set them off again." He spread his hands. "Still, it's your decision and I'll stand by whatever you choose and do my best to help you, no matter what. Understand?"

Draco nodded and stood up. He didn't like any of it, but he understood- even if the weight of his voice being the deciding one rested upon him uneasily. Harry held out his hand and Draco eyed it for a minute, before finally taking it. They shook like equals and Draco gave a wry smile.

"Well, this is interesting."

"Isn't it," Harry replied, then turned to Hermione. "Everything sound fair?"

"Does Ginny know all this yet?" Hermione asked him pointedly as she stood and brushed off her pants.

"She'll have guessed at some of it, I'm sure. But come on, we'll have a sit down and sort it all-"

His words were cut off as the noise level issuing from the flat grew and Harry's face went pale.

"Merlin, I knew I shouldn't have left her in there alone-" He dashed back through the doorway and Hermione and Draco followed him quickly.

* * *

They found Zabini on the floor, crawling away from Ginny, who was merely standing over him, hands clenched into fists. She didn't appear to be doing anything to him, in fact, but as they neared her they could see her face was contorted with some combination of disbelief and grief, and she was trembling.

"Ginny? What is it?" Hermione asked her friend as Harry impeded Zabini's progress away from them with a spell.

"I…he…" she tried to speak, but a second later another howl of frustration left her lips.

Harry flipped Zabini around and crouched beside him. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Zabini cried.

"What did you say, then?" Draco asked, crossing his arms. Harry flicked his eyes up to the blond man and then back to Blaise.

"You heard him," he said. "Talk."

Zabini looked frightened a second longer before his fear mutated into a defensive sneer. He glared up at the two men.

"I told you, you won't like what I have to say."

"Try me," Harry responded, thrusting his wand up under the man's chin.

Blaise continued to watch them all, eyes darting between their expectant, angry faces. Finally he put one hand to the tip of Harry's wand and pushed it out of the way.

"At least stop pointing that thing at me," he said. "I'd rather say what I have to if I know I won't be murdered for it straight away."

"Fine," Harry responded, pocketing his wand and standing up. "But stop playing games."

"Funny you should bring up games, Potter. But it's wasn't me that was playing them, not back then," Blaise said softly, shaking his head. "I never would have said a word, if this witch here hadn't caught on, somehow. Merlin knows how she figured I knew something else-"

"I just don't like the way you look at me, Zabini," Ginny said quietly, finally finding her voice. "How could I not guess you knew something else, the way your eyes slide about the place like the fucking snake you are."

Zabini started to sneer at her, heard Harry clear his throat, and thought better of it. He looked away.

"I told you before, I was witness to some of the torture. I know what happened to you."

"That's nothing new," Hermione began. "We all know that, now-"

"You mistake me, Granger," Blaise said. "I mean, I know what happened to _all_ of you. All three."

Hermione caught her breath and Draco put a hand to her shoulder again.

"Oh, I know you all tried to hush it up, but it was pretty fucking obvious to everyone, especially after what happened to her face," he said, jerking his head in Hermione's direction, while addressing the floor. "Weasley offed himself, didn't he. We knew it."

"Yes, and we know why, too," Harry snapped, losing his temper. "Do you have something more constructive to add, Zabini?"

"Not constructive, no," he said. "Not after this length of time, and what's already happened. But you want to know, so I'll tell you. Weasley wasn't the one torturing Granger. You never found the cauldron full of polyjuice because I blew the place up, but it was there, just the same."

Hermione wondered if she'd ever had knees, because the way her legs were behaving on her today, constantly going all wobbly like that, well. It was a wonder Draco hadn't been forced to carry her everywhere. Everyone stared at Zabini for a full minute before turning to look at Hermione, who suddenly couldn't speak, either. She understood Ginny's incomprehensible fury from moments ago, now. In fact, a lot of things made sense.

"Polyjuice," Harry finally breathed and Hermione would've collapsed if Draco hadn't caught her up again. The certainty that speaking the word gave her made her mind go fuzzy and her ears filled with ringing. Ah, she was going into shock. She recognized that feeling.

"Of course," she managed to breathe, slumping against Draco. Then she squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh my god. Oh my _god._" She covered her face and Blaise felt that tug of guilt again.

"I'm afraid I don't really understand," Harry said. Ginny wrung her hands and stared at him helplessly.

"Oh, Harry, don't make us talk about it. Please."

Harry looked back to Zabini, who was still studying the floor. He had to know. He needed the truth. Ron had been his best friend, too, once. He'd never been the same after that time- none of them had, but he'd missed Ron so sorely after he'd gone…he crouched before the other wizard again. He forced the words out of his mouth.

"Are you trying to say that the Death Eaters polyjuiced themselves as Ron and then went in and-"

"Stop!" Ginny shrieked, covering her ears. "Please, stop, Harry! I can't- I was in that cell too and I _can't_- and Hermione- please don't make us listen to it, or talk about. _Please_," she begged and Harry froze, staring across the way at her, one hand on Zabini's shoulder, ready to shake the truth from him.

He closed his eyes slowly, tried to calm himself, but when he rose again, hauling Zabini after him, he was anything but gentle. He threw Blaise back into his room and shut and locked the door again then stood before it, shoulders heaving as he tried to control his temper. Finally, when he thought he could face his friends again without yelling, or throwing things, Harry turned and walked back out to them.

"I'll take you back to the farm," he told Hermione and Draco. Draco merely gave him an uncomprehending glance and tightened his arms about Hermione, who was entirely unresponsive as she tried to remember how to breathe. Then Harry turned to Ginny, who was hunched over, hands still over her ears.

"You're flooing to the Burrow," he told her. When she didn't respond, just rocked back and forth some as she shook her head and more tears spilled from her eyes; he walked up to her and gently drew her hands away from her ears.

"Ginny," he said quietly, "look at me."

She took several deep breaths and finally opened her eyes. He smoothed some of her hair back from her forehead.

"Come on," he said. "Your mum is at home, and I know your dad has been taking early days from work. So there'll be people there. I won't leave you here alone, but it's not a good idea for you to go back with them, either. You both need some space right now. All this hiding things, this keeping them to yourselves and not talking about them needs to end now, today."

Draco wasn't sure if that was quite Potter's decision to make, but as he was clearly the man in charge just then and neither woman seemed to be fighting him, he decided not to make any more waves. Ginny stared up at Harry and looked very much like she wanted to protest, but after a second she simply collapsed against Harry's chest and slid her arms about him.

"Ok," she said, sighing. "I'm too tired to fight with you."

"Ok?" Harry echoed, as if he couldn't believe it.

Ginny nodded and then let go, stepped back. "Yeah. I'll floo over right now." She heaved another sigh. "Let me grab my bag."

She walked off to her room and Harry watched her go, then turned back to Draco and Hermione.

"I'll call a cab," he said to them, and walked over to the kitchen. Draco could hear him speaking to someone a minute later. He reappeared shortly after that and Draco watched him for a moment before asking his own burning question.

"What about Zabini?" he asked and Harry raised an eyebrow, looked away.

"It's still up to you. This news…what he just told us, it doesn't really change the fact of what he actually did, so it's still up to you." Draco nodded and Harry waited a beat before adding, "Not that I like it any."

Draco ignored that. "And what about him, being here? What will he do if you go back to the farm with us?"

"I'm not staying," Harry said. "I'll go in to work, settle a few things, check in at the Burrow. Then I'll come back here, do some cleaning up. I'll keep guard. But you'll only have a few days at most to decide what you want- you and your father, since it's partly up to him as well."

"And how do you know that Hermione and Ginny don't want to press charges?" he asked and immediately felt the Hermione in question shift in his arms.

"Ginny's right," she mumbled, wiping at her face. "It's too much. We're both tired, of all of it. What's the point in bringing it all up again now? Ron's already…" She paused, struggled for words. "It's too bloody late for any of it to make a difference. To anybody."

"It could mean my freedom," Draco pointed out softly. "Mine and my father's."

Hermione made a small noise and pushed away from him. He let her go.

"Do what you want, then," she said, her voice empty. "I don't care anymore." She turned from them both and walked over to the door.

"I need air," she said. "I'm going out."

Draco watched her go, his heart and mind conflicted. His arms still ached to bring her some small comfort; but his head was telling him that it was his right to ask for pardon; his right to dig it all up, no matter how many people it hurt. It was his life too, after all. He and his father could do so much better for themselves than a farm in the countryside if only they were free. He crossed his arms and began to feel distinctly uncomfortable with the decision being pressed on him.

Harry didn't say a thing, just stood waiting for Ginny to return. Draco felt like an idiot, but it wasn't fair of Hermione to be angry at him just because he wanted his freedom! Wasn't that what she secretly wanted, too? For him and his dad to be out of her life? And yet…

"I'll go too," he said, but Harry stopped him.

"Give her some space," he said.

"The wards-" Draco began, but Harry cut him off.

"You're with the Head Auror, Malfoy. You don't have to follow her around. Unless you want to."

Draco's cheeks burned and he frowned and walked over to the door anyway, leaning against the wall as he waited for Harry and Ginny to make their goodbyes. A moment later there was a whoosh from the fireplace immediately after Ginny called out, "The Burrow!" Then Harry was in front of him, motioning to the door.

"Come on, Malfoy."

And even though he suddenly had no desire to see Hermione's sad face again, Draco went without another word.

* * *

**AN: After I wrote this last bit I broke into a loud rendition of Tara's Theme from Gone With the Wind. Try it yourselves- it's highly effective.**


	32. To Save You

**I don't own this crap, why you gotta keep askin'?**

**AN: I just have to say, there needs to be a Draco/Hermione video to Queen's "Who Wants to Live Forever" from Highlander. Why doesn't this exist yet? WHY. If you want to make one, let me know because I totes have the mp3 and will email it to you, for reals like whoa.**

**It is only one, tonight, but it's something. Chapter!**

* * *

The ride back to the farm was quiet, punctuated by soft sighs from Hermione and the rustle of Harry's things as he scribbled notes into a small book. Hermione had insisted on a window seat; and Harry had decided that Draco didn't need to sit next to her; so he was sitting squashed between them in the backseat of the cab. Although Draco felt more squashed than Harry probably did, considering Harry was sitting halfway in his lap because, quote, "Hermione needs space." Which Harry had hissed in his ear right before 'accidentally' jabbing him with his wand a few times. Hermione hadn't noticed any of this, of course.

Draco sighed again, tried to get comfortable, decided it was impossible, and finally turned his face to the window and stared out quite determinedly. The ride would be over soon, he could count on that much.

The cabbie drove like Hermione.

* * *

Harry paid the driver as Draco and Hermione started up the driveway they'd run down only a few agonizing hours ago. The three of them marched along in continued silence, one behind the other, until the house came into view. That was about the time that Lucius stood up from his place on the steps and waved a hand before making his way out to them. Draco jogged ahead of Hermione to greet his father, who embraced him in a surprising hug.

"Nice to see you too, Dad," he said and Lucius cuffed him one after he'd let go, though there was no force behind it.

"I _am_ you father. I was concerned."

"Yeah, I can tell," Draco responded.

"And Miss Granger-" Lucius began, addressing Hermione as she came abreast of them.

"It's Hermione," she said, cutting him off. "Since Ginny's not here to scare the piss out of you anymore. I'm going out, to the horses, and I don't want to be bothered. By any of you," she added, with a toss of her head and a quick glance at Harry.

Draco stared at the ground as she passed them and then at her back as she walked up the steps and into the house, presumably to change. Lucius watched his son watch her.

"What happened?" he asked and Draco shook his head quickly as Harry walked up.

"Tell you later."

"Tell him now," Harry recommended, catching his words. "You have a lot to discuss, anyhow. Best to just get it all out there. Look, I really have to get back now, but all the wards are still in place out here, so you should be fine. Just…keep an eye on Hermione."

"I thought you said she needed space," Draco replied coolly and Harry glared at him.

"I said keep an eye on her, not follow her into the shower, yeah? Merlin, Malfoy. Get a fucking grip."

"We're never going to like each other," Draco said and it was almost a question. Harry let out a bark of laughter.

"I don't reckon we will, no. But I can tolerate you as long as Hermione can. Go on, then- talk to each other. I'll phone later. One of you be sure and pick up if Hermione doesn't feel like answering."

"And what if we don't feel like-" Draco began, but Lucius cuffed him again.

"You didn't learn your manners from me," he said and nodded politely at Harry, who raised a brow.

"Really? I thought he was doing his best imitation of you, just then."

Lucius sniffed. "Good-bye, Potter."

"You too. And remember, answer the damn phone- and not on the tenth call!"

Lucius waved a hand and Draco glared at after Harry's form before turning said glare on his father.

"Thanks for making me feel about ten again, Dad."

"Thank you for being an eternally grateful boy, son," Lucius replied mildly. "Now, come inside and let's sit down and discuss whatever it is you have to tell me." He put an arm around Draco's shoulders, leaning on him some as they walked up the steps and into the house together. He tried to smile reassuringly at Draco as he held the door open.

"I've been sitting out here all afternoon and it's gotten rather hot."

Draco paused and looked at him, thought of all the heat of their own he and Hermione, Ginny and Harry, had just endured.

"I think I know what you mean," he said sadly, then turned and went inside.

Lucius looked after him, puzzled, before raising his brows in dismissal and following his son into the cool shade of the house.

* * *

An hour or so later, Lucius sat back from the kitchen table and regarded his son seriously.

"I…see," he said. Draco lifted his head, met his father's eyes.

"Glad one of us does."

Lucius didn't respond to that, just continued to watch Draco. Yes, he rather felt he saw a lot of things, just then. Finally, after some minutes of silence, he pursed his lips and then spoke again.

"And what do you want to do?"

Draco crossed his arms and shrugged. "It's up to you, too."

"Yes, but I'm not the one who actually has any sort of future to look forward to. It's your life we are deciding now, Draco. So, what do you want to do?"

Draco frowned. "I wish you'd stop talking that way. You're recovering, you're in your early fifties- you're far from dead. You have a future too, Dad. It's not just me-"

"I have no future without your mother, Draco," Lucius replied softly. "And if you continue to make plans that include me, I will only be a weight about your neck."

"That's not true, Dad."

"It isn't? Then please, tell me what I'm good for. I've been a wizard my entire life and a convict and catatonic for nearly the last decade. I ruined our family name and encouraged you to follow in my footsteps. I have no other skills and no capacity- or desire- for learning a new job, not at this point. Not while I'm still battling the effects of that curse. What exactly could I possibly be useful for, now?" He paused and watched Draco stare at him, disbelieving, valiantly shaking his head in the face of his father's self-deprecation.

"You, at least, have a chance, Draco. An opportunity to start over. If you want so badly to clear our family name, you should let me be the one they come after. Let me be the scapegoat. I can stay here and battle the ministry, if it means that much to you, but I won't let you throw away your chance at freedom. If Potter honestly thinks he can help you escape, you should go."

"I can't let you do that, Dad," Draco said. "You know I can't. Whatever you think you're good for, whatever you think of yourself, you're still my father. Nothing will change that. And trying to sacrifice yourself now won't change what happened back then. The best way for you to make it up to me, if you're going to insist on being so morbid, is to let me have this. Let me have my father back, for good." He started to reach across the table for Lucius' hand, stopped uncertaintly, and drew back again. "Please. All I want is my family back," he finished quietly.

"Are you sure that's all you want?"

Draco jerked his head up and stared at his father. Lucius smiled gently at him.

"I apologize, Draco. I'm getting fanciful in my old age."

"Dad, you really aren't that old. I'm sure there are a dozen witches and wizards who would agree with me on that much."

Lucius glanced away and found a speck on the tabletop suddenly fascinating as he thought of one particular witch who might agree. He felt ashamed.

"I can only imagine," he said cryptically, and lifted his eyes again. "But the real question is, Draco, no matter what you want me to be or do, am I willing to watch you sacrifice your chance at freedom and happiness just because you mistakenly believe we can ever be a family again?"

Draco drew back, his face full of confusion, full of hurt.

"I won't be happy, Dad," he said quietly. "Not if you stay behind and end up crucified by the ministry. I won't take that chance with you."

"And if I want to do that for you, take the chance, so that our name is cleared?"

"No," Draco said, pushing back his chair and standing up. "There has to be another way. I'll think of it. I'll think of something. This thing, all these revelations…they have me confused. I just need to clear my head for a bit, sort it all out. But I'll figure out something, Dad. And it won't involve you sacrificing yourself just because you think you're some old warhorse who needs to be put to pasture. I promise you that," he ended fiercely, then turned and stalked from the room.

Lucius watched him go, brows drawn together in empathy. He knew how his son was feeling; he did. He just wasn't sure if it was what was best for either of them- for any of them, Hermione Granger included. With a sigh, he stood up a few minutes later as he heard the ceiling above him creaking with Draco's footfalls. He changed direction from heading for the stairs. I may as well remain down here, he thought. After all, Hermione was at the barn, or the pastures. Draco had just taken over the bedroom. That left a quiet nap in one of the armchairs in the living room for himself. It made as much sense as anything else, just then.

Minutes later he was settled, his eyes closed, as the late afternoon sun crept through the windows and up the walls.

* * *

Ginny and her mother looked up from their tea at the same time as they heard the knock on the kitchen door, signaling Harry's arrival. Molly did not miss the way her daughter's eyes flicked back down to her cup of tea uncertainly, or the way the fingers which curled about her cup trembled.

"I'll just get that, shall I?" she murmured and stood, letting Harry in with a large hug and kiss to his cheek. Harry returned the embrace and then made his way straight for the table, and Ginny.

"Well?" he said. "How are you both?"

Ginny met his eyes after a long pause and gave him the smallest of smiles. "Mum is alright, at least," she said.

Molly snorted. "We're both a mess. Ginerva told me everything that's happened the last few weeks and we've been crying into our tea since. Would you like anything to drink, Harry? Or eat?"

"No, thank you," he said. "I'm not staying long. I just had to come by and see…"

"How we were," Ginny finished for him and shrugged weakly. "Alive. Which is better than Ron, at the moment."

"Ginny, I'm so sorry," Harry began. "I wish I could have spared you all that today."

"No, it's better to know," she replied firmly, certainty in her voice for the first time that day. "It is. Have you had the story from Malfoy yet, too?"

"No- I got there and found I couldn't…quite face it, just then. Besides, it seemed rather cruel to make either of them relive it for a second time in the same day. A third time, in Draco's case."

"Kind of you," Ginny said dryly. "And…Zabini?"

"I'm going to go question him after I've seen to things here and at the office." Harry leaned forward, took one of Ginny's hands. "I love you," he said.

Her head came up, eyes meeting his. The fear drifted from her expression and was replaced with a softness, a longing. Then she squeezed his hand suddenly.

"I'm glad," she whispered and Harry gave her the tiniest of smiles to match her own.

Molly turned about at the sink and began to refill the tea kettle noisily, hoping it drowned out the sound of her sudden sobs of hope and joy. Perhaps she would get her baby girl back, now. Perhaps she would return to them all, someday.

At the table, Harry and Ginny continued to watch each other in silence, years of misunderstandings and misdeeds passing away between them, driven back by the dangerous hope of a future.

* * *

Hermione led the last of the horses into the barn and brushed him down, giving him an extra scoop of feed before shutting the stall door and heading down the aisle. She paused at Echo's door and said goodnight one last time, apologized to the filly she and Lucius had…intruded upon earlier, and finally made her way from the barn. She flicked the lights out and pulled the door to, then stood there for a moment, breathing deeply of the early evening air. The last ray of the sun still lit up the western horizon, but the moon was full and hanging low in the dark blue sky.

She thought of what she'd told herself multiple times seventh year, when they'd been on the run, and Ron had just abandoned them. At least we're looking at the same moon, her mind said regretfully. Except that couldn't help her now. She didn't know what she believed about an afterlife- she didn't even know what she believed about the life she was in at that moment. But she had hoped with all her heart, once upon a time, that Ron was still out there, somewhere. Still watching over her in some way.

Which made the news she'd had today that much more unfair. She didn't have all the facts, but that seldom mattered. To know that Ron hadn't been responsible for all those months of torture, to know he'd killed himself for nothing…it was enough. Enough to drive her out of her mind with fresh grief, that was. Because not only did it make what he'd done, his own struggles, so unnecessary; it also meant that her torture had been that much worse. It meant all those times she'd told herself that it was ok, that at least it was Ron and not those Death Eaters…they were all lies. Because those Death Eaters had torn her apart, had toyed with her mind and body as surely as they had with Ginny.

And she felt dirty, and used, and utterly ill.

She was actually rather proud of herself, come to think of it. She could have easily been ill earlier, at Ginny's. She'd felt it, roiling her stomach, the muscles contracting on their own with the pain of the news. And now? Now that she'd seen herself through that moment, held it in, she felt…not better, exactly. But like she'd conquered some awful part of herself. The part that had been formed by those dead men. The part they'd twisted for their own sick purposes.

And the fact that she still didn't know who they were? Ginny was right, it didn't matter. Not now. She wasn't even sure it had mattered at the time. They'd both stopped caring who was doing it after the first two weeks of their imprisonment. The who didn't matter when they were flaying you alive, mentally and physically. It was only the what that mattered, after a while. And if they would ever stop doing it. That was all.

With a sigh, she put her hands in her pockets, gave the moon one more glance, and started up the path to the house. Perhaps, if she were lucky, she could avoid Draco and his father long enough to grab a quick bite to eat before holing herself up in her room.

Not that she felt like eating. But it seemed like a good idea. Sort of.

* * *

In a few minutes, she was pushing open the back door and making her way into the kitchen, where she found a tub of cold soup left over from a few days ago. She grabbed a spoon and some crackers, stacked them on top of the small tub, and was just shoving from the kitchen and through the living room when a small sound caught her ears. She peered into the dim room and then flicked on a light, identifying the source of the sound.

It was Lucius, peering at her with bleary eyes from where he sat in an armchair. He'd clearly just woken up from some sort of nap and he looked almost…harmless as he blinked up at her uncertainly, eyes filled with sleep and lines upon his face relaxed. That damned hair of his spilling over his shoulders and the back of the armchair, looking nearly alluring in the moonlight coming in through the windows.

She stopped short and eyed him in return, before making a decision. With absolutely no dignity, she plopped into the chair across from him and set the soup on the side table before tearing into the package of crackers with her teeth. He seemed to grow more aware as he took in her actions, slowly eyeing her with more interest. Even if it was a grim interest.

"Cracker?" she said and held the package out to him, taking one for herself. He gingerly reached out and took it from her, sliding a few into his hand. Hermione munched on hers, hunching over in her chair, and looked to the tub of soup. She made a small noise and stood up.

"I'll get another spoon," she said and disappeared back into the kitchen before he could protest. She was back a moment later, a second spoon in hand, and tossed it onto his lap. He looked down at it, bemused, and picked it up, setting it on the arm of the chair.

"Thank you," he murmured, and began to nibble on the crackers.

Hermione waved a hand, shoved another cracker- whole- into her mouth. Then she reached for the soup and pried the lid off. She held it out to Lucius first, who gave a small shake of his head and held up the handful of crackers in explanation. She shrugged and dug into the soup with her own spoon, giving it a good stir before taking a large first spoonful.

Straight from the tub.

Lucius wondered if she really expected him to eat from the same supply she was now dipping her germy spoon back into. He decided it didn't matter when she looked up at him a second later, one brow arched in question.

"What?" she said around a mouthful of soup and cracker.

"Absolutely nothing," he replied in a quiet voice.

She held his gaze a moment longer, swallowed, licked her spoon again. Then she reached over and set it on the small table next to his own chair. She reached for the crackers again. Then she made her first thrust.

"Just like the absolutely nothing you knew about Ron?"

He glanced up at her, frozen by her question, then forced himself to finish chewing his food. He swallowed a moment later and sat quietly, trying to determine how best to answer her. She decided he was taking too long.

"I mean, when you decided what to tell us, how did you figure on leaving that bit out? I would've thought it was the perfect way to really make us crazy."

"Miss Granger…"

"Hermione," she corrected him and crossed her arms.

"Hermione," he started over, with a direct look at her that made her cheeks flush. "It wasn't until this afternoon, when Draco told me what had happened, what Zabini said, that I realized the significance of some of my own recollections. Remember, please, that I did not actually see much of the place, did not witness the torture, except through Zabini's mind and memories. Everything was second hand. Believe me, if I had thought of it at the time, I would have said something. I can only apologize now for not preparing you better for Zabini's revelations."

Hermione looked like she wanted to say something to that- several somethings, in fact- but knew he was right. She bit her lip and looked away, reached for more crackers. They sat dry on her tongue, but she forced herself to eat them anyhow. Lucius tentatively picked up the tub of soup, took a few wary spoonfuls. Finally, Hermione spoke again.

"I know you were only telling us what we asked, earlier," she said. "I don't really believe you meant any harm by it. And we- Ginny and I, at least, and for the short time Ron was still with us- well, we owe you and your wife our lives."

"Please do not say a word about repayment, or debts," he murmured in return. "I won't stand for it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she replied snidely, though there was a curve to her lips belying her tone of voice.

"If anything, it is I who continues to owe you. If there is anything more you wish to know…please, ask. It will not be easy to speak of it, but it seems the least I can do. Especially after my gaffe this morning."

Hermione watched him sadly for a second, then exhaled noisily and snapped her fingers. "Soup," she said and Lucius smiled wryly and leaned across to hand the tub to her.

Their fingers brushed, but Hermione thought she did a rather good job of not jumping at the electricity she felt.

More time passed. Lucius closed his eyes again and leaned his head back as Hermione polished off the soup. He heard her get up, deposit things back in the kitchen. Come back out, sit down again. Then finally, just as he was convinced she would take him up on it some other time, her voice reached his ears.

"How exactly did they do it?" she asked.

His eyes snapped open again and he looked over at her.

"You mean…"

"Ron," she said. "How exactly did it happen? Do you know that much?"

He watched her carefully, not sure if she truly needed to hear such things. Not when they'd long ago ceased to matter. He spoke anyway.

"Polyjuice," he murmured. "He- they, rather- didn't stay in your cell afterwards, did he?"

Hermione shook her head- her whole body shook, really, but she held herself upright anyway. "He didn't, " she replied quietly. "I should have realized something was off because of that."

"You were out of your mind with pain, Hermione," he replied gently. "There is no way you can blame yourself for any of this." He went on. "I believe what they did…was use a pensieve. They would make him watch their memories of what went on and he…" He gathered himself and continued, despite the signs that she was now crying. "He was out of his mind in pain as well, so he could not differentiate what was real, what were his own memories, and what was not."

He stopped and gazed across at where his guardian- a young, world-weary witch- sat with a hand over her eyes, mouth contorted in a silent sob. Tears dripped off her chin.

"That is all I know," he added softly. "I am sorry."

"I hate that word," she gasped and Lucius grimaced.

"My apologies."

"Oh, hell," Hermione replied, waving a hand, eyes still covered with the other. "I just…I just need a moment."

"Let me give you your space, then," he said and started to leverage himself from the chair.

She lowered her hand and reached out to him. "No," she said suddenly, breathlessly. "Please don't. I just…you can stay. Please." Her voice was nearly a whisper. "Please stay. I'd like…the company, if you don't mind." She looked up at him, eyes pleading, and uncertainty and shame stole across her face, as if she couldn't believe she'd just asked that of him. She covered her eyes again and continued to cry quietly.

Lucius looked down at her, confusion along every line of his body. And then, slowly, he lowered himself back into his chair and sat in the dim living room with her, and shared in her quiet grief. The way he wished he had- the way he _should've_, earlier.

* * *

From the dark stairwell, Draco lowered himself onto a step, sitting, and hunched over his knees as the sounds from the living room reached his ears quite clearly. His heart was thudding loudly in his chest and his mind rushed with what he'd overheard.

And he felt all of ten years old again for the second time that day, damn his father. He clenched his hands into fists, drawing them up against his chest; as if he could still the rapid beating of his overwrought heart that would _insist_ on feeling something he wasn't even certain he wanted to be feeling.

Damn, damn, _damn_.

* * *

**AN: Jealous Draco is jealous? ...and evil Margot is still evil.**


	33. Give Yourself Away

**I don't own Harry Potter and never, ever will. **

**AN: Seriously, y'all. Draco/Hermione video. Queen's "Who Wants to Live Forever." Let's make this happen, people. I have the song, one of you has the talent and media/technology. Do it. Make me an offer I can't refuse. Also need a Draco/Hermione vid to Billy Joel's "She's Always a Woman," which I can also provide music for. Come on, folks. You know you want to.**

**Oh, and please read through to the end of the chapter before spazzing on me, you crazy bitches. Um, and I'm pretty sure I love you? Maybe I love Ginger a little more than the rest, but that can't be helped. She hath captured mine heart, after all.**

**Also, this chapter may be complete drivel. :D**

* * *

Draco was startled out of sleep by her cries of terror. He hadn't been expecting any that night; though he supposed that was rather stupid of him, considering what the day had brought them all; and he'd gone off to bed unnoticed by either his father or Hermione. He hadn't even registered his father's entry into their room, he'd been sleeping so soundly. But her cries? They could've waked the dead.

Now he looked over to where his father was apparently still in a deep sleep- perhaps it was the relaxant he was still taking before bed that kept him in his dreams. Draco didn't particularly care just then; he thought only of Hermione and how desperately he needed her to stop making those dreadful noises.

For they were dreadful, and the worst he'd heard since he'd been at the farm. Worse, even, than the night she'd found him and he'd suspected their relationship was changing. Those had been awful, they all had. These? They were heart rending. Long, keening moans that ended in a shout of hoarse terror; punctuated by guttural sobs and a strange thumping noise. She must have been banging about in her sleep- pounding the bed or headboard in her nightmare induced fear.

He couldn't take it any longer; he had to see her, wake her. He had to make them stop, because they pulled on something deep within him; made his own face crumple and choked him with feeling. He couldn't take it.

Slipping from bed, throwing one last glance at his father's still, breathing form, he opened their door and made his way down the hall, one hand on the wall for guidance. As he crept down the stairs, moonlight spilling through the windows lit his path and another cry filled the house. He froze, closed his eyes as he rode it out, then continued to her bedroom door, his spine tingling with anxiety for her.

* * *

She was dreaming of him- Ron. Of that morning she wandered out of their bedroom and found him two feet off the ground; dangling from a rope attached to a hook that had been transfigured on their ceiling of their living room. Of how she'd fallen back against the wall in her first shock, then gathered herself and run to him; tried to lift him up unsuccessfully, to ease the burden on the rope in the hopes…

Harry had arrived with aurors- she'd managed to call someone, even in her shock. He'd found her on the ground with his body, trying to breathe life into him. She knew CPR, after all. She was certified- her parents had seen to that a long time ago. She'd just never imagined she'd ever be using it on him…but of course, it hadn't worked.

And then she'd been alone. But in the dream, she was stuck in that moment of walking out, seeing him hanging, swinging gently in the morning sunlight. Stuck watching his dead face open its eyes and stare right back at her. And then the worst part began. Their captors, the faceless men who had ruined their lives, grabbed her from behind and proceeded to make his corpse watch _everything_.

And she couldn't wake up. She battled those men- who, in the nightmare, truly were faceless, with only black holes where their eyes, noses and mouths ought to be. She fought and kicked and screamed, even as her voice dissolved under a barrage of pain filled tears. And still, she couldn't wake up. She was lost in the darkness, the morning light blocked by the men and Ron's corpse and she knew this was it. This was the night she would truly go mad.

In the distance beyond the faceless bodies, that swinging figure, she could hear a voice trying to reach her. It was a man, and he was calling her name. She reached out, but the Eaters bound her hands. She cried out, but her mouth couldn't form the words. But the man kept calling to her. And then she felt, rather than saw, the morning sunlight seeping through the wall of bodies. Someone was pushing them all aside. Someone was letting in the light. She just needed to open her eyes and see him-

She woke up, gasping and choking on her tears. The man holding her brushed her hair back from her face, ran his hand along her scars, then held her to him.

"Hermione," he said. "Hermione. Are you there? Are you back? Shh, come back. It's not real. It's not real. Trust me. Hermione."

He put cool lips to her forehead and then held her to his chest; embraced her and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

"Hermione," he said again and his voice was quiet and tearful.

"Y-yes," she finally stammered out around the erratic beating of her heart. She breathed deeply, trying to calm down.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

She let herself be held, let him bunch his hands into her hair, because she was too weak to do anything else. But words were something she did have.

"I hate that word," she said and the phrase sounded achingly familiar.

"I know," he responded, and put his lips to her forehead again. "I know. But that doesn't make it any less true."

She rubbed her cheek- the scarred, awful half of her face- against his shoulder and then pulled back from him drowsily, looked up at his face. The moonlight was behind him, but she would know that pale blonde hair anywhere. He reached past her and turned on her table lamp.

Lucius' face was thrown into stark relief and she blinked rapidly in the sudden light. He looked down at her, his face sad. He felt her forehead.

"You're feverish."

"I was so frightened," she said suddenly, ignoring his words. She rather thought her cheeks were burning for an entirely different reason.

"I know you were. Stay here- I'll get you some water."

"No, don't leave," she begged, hanging onto him. "Please…stay."

He looked at her more closely and though she felt certain she was looking at him through a fog, and her ears were ringing, she knew what he intended.

She welcomed it.

His lips found hers again, but it was not like it had been that morning, at the barn. His lips were softer, this time. Fuller. He pulled away from her, almost in uncertainty.

"Hermione," he said. "This isn't right. Your fever-"

The rest of his response was lost to her lips as she covered his mouth with her own again. Yes, so it was different- it was better. At the barn, they were hiding. And yes, he still reminded her of Ron, and so what if she'd felt their relation that evening was almost familial? She was a woman, after all, and it was almost liberating to feel that, after everything she'd been through.

She was a woman, and she was alive, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually wanted a man to hold her to himself. To feel his skin and muscles warm and alive against her own. To feel his tongue battling for dominance with hers, his lips nipping gently at her cheek, her jaw, her throat. She shivered against him and pulled him closer into the curve of her arms. His torso was long and hard against hers and seemed to hum with nervous energy. His fingers slid along the curve of her spine, lighting up every inch of skin they touched.

The ringing in her ears grew louder, and it was the sound of him saying her name.

* * *

She did know who he was, didn't she? She held a lucid conversation with him after he'd woken her up; yet now she was putting her arms about his neck and drawing him close; her hands running down his back and up his neck into his hair…he shivered, feeling her hot skin against his own.

Draco reminded himself she probably had a fever and tried to pull away. Her lips covered his, enticing him to open his own and he did; felt her tongue slide against his, felt her draw one slender, muscular leg up alongside his waist.

Oh, Merlin. He hadn't had a woman kiss him _any_ way since their imprisonment, let alone the way she was kissing him now. The way she was putting her entire body into it, as if her life depended on it. His heart felt like it was going to pound its way straight out of his chest if he didn't put an end to it now.

And then her hands slid under the hem of his nightshirt; and her fingertips ran across his scars almost seductively.

His eyes snapped open even as he made involuntary noises of pleasure, of desire. Of hunger. Even as his body clearly said, let her have her way with you, he was prying her arms away; and holding them at her sides; and then scrambling off the bed and backing up into the door.

Hermione's eyes opened slowly as her brain caught up with all the stimuli it was processing; just after Draco had pressed himself up against the edge of the door like it was his only chance at escape.

She turned and searched him out while still huddled in the middle of her bed, her jaw working as though she wanted very much to say something, but couldn't. She felt sluggish in her movements, as though her body wasn't sure she should move, even if her brain was sending the signal. Like her eyes had failed to pick up on the fact that it was Draco all along. And yet she'd felt something change in their encounter, had known it wasn't really Lucius she'd been kissing. Lucius had not answered her kiss earlier with the urgency she'd felt from this man, just now.

No, Lucius had been all languid questions. His son was all frenetic, if reluctant, answers.

Hermione had no idea which she preferred. She was having trouble focusing on anything in that moment; let alone the fact that there were two men under her roof who were both as confused as she was; one of whom had accidentally kissed her- the other whom she had accidentally kissed. And in the same twenty four hours.

She wondered if Ginny would be proud. Seconds later, mind fuzzy and ears still buzzing, she wondered why she'd thought of that in the first place.

Where was she again?

Draco was breathing hard and he knew his body had betrayed him the minute her eyes settled on him. Desperately ashamed and suddenly angry, he turned around, keeping his back to her. Twisted his head to speak to her.

"You have a fever," he said quietly, voice ragged. "You're burning up. I had to come down and wake you because you were screaming like a banshee. It was bloody horrid."

"I-" She floundered for words. She wasn't sure the bed should feel as though it was moving.

He turned a little further, once he was certain he could control himself, and watched her. Her eyes were glazed.

"I think you're right," she finally managed to breathe, then put a hand to her forehead, knowing it must be clammy. "I do feel sick," she added and started to lay down again.

Draco approached the bed again. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked stiffly and Hermione gave a small shake of her head, which was starting to throb.

"Some sort of pill?" he asked. "Or a trash bin? Some cool water?"

She shook her head again and set to shivering in earnest. Draco rubbed his forehead, suddenly feeling very tired. He didn't know a lot about muggle treatments, but he'd learned something in the time since he'd had to take care of his father. Between that, being on the run, and the last two weeks with Hermione, he thought he could manage something. And he clearly couldn't leave her here alone.

"I'll take care of you," he finally said quietly. "As long as you promise not to attack me again."

He couldn't tell if that was a glare she'd sent him, or a grimace of pain. So, he drew up a trash bin, went for some extra bags, a damp cloth, and a glass of water, and dug about in her bathroom for some pills. Once he'd acquired all those items, he settled himself on the edge of the bed, where she was curled on her side facing him.

And he began his vigil.

* * *

It was the morning sun burning through the window that woke Lucius up, and not the alarm clock on the bedside table, though that went off a minute later, anyway. He reached an arm over and smacked it off, as Draco had shown him, and then lay there for an extra minute, listening to the sounds of the birds.

Their songs no longer annoyed him. He hoped that was a good thing. He pulled his arms from beneath the covers and stretched lazily, then slowly sat up. That was when he realized Draco was not in the room. He had not been the one to shut off the alarm, after all. And there was no sign of him already having changed for the day. His bedclothes were rumpled; and Lucius could recall tiptoeing about the room last night; because Draco had gone to bed before him. But he was not there now.

Lucius took a deep breath and then gave a sigh. Well, wherever his son was, he couldn't be far. Perhaps he'd been unable to sleep and kept company with some tea in the kitchen, or living room. Or perhaps he'd gone out very early because he was still upset about yesterday. Either way, there was only one way of finding out.

He pulled himself from under the rest of the covers and placed his feet on the floor. His legs were feeling stronger every day, though he still enjoyed the habit of a cane. Reaching for it now, he made his way across the room to the door and then down the hall to the bathroom. Perhaps he could greet the day without his son's help in any activity- that would please Draco…and himself, in all honesty.

Shutting the bathroom door firmly, he set about his routine.

* * *

Draco woke to the sound of water rushing through the house's old pipes. He was lying on something soft…and something else was laying across his chest that was also very soft…he gave a soft, startled cry. Somehow, during the night, he'd lain down beside Hermione and fallen asleep; and now she had an arm over him even though she was snuggled under a blanket that covered the rest of her. And good thing for that blanket, too, because while it didn't block the feel of her equally soft body as she curled up against him; it at least meant he didn't have the temptation of seeing said body.

Her face was relaxed, though her hair and skin was slightly damp, and he knew before he even reached a stealthy hand up to touch her forehead that the fever had broken. So, it was probably nothing, and she'd just been emotionally overworked- weary and not eating or sleeping enough. Then again, that described her behavior the entire time he'd been at the farm.

He watched the morning light, diffused by the position of the windows and the curtains, play across her skin. And even though the left half of her face was scarred- pearly white in some spots and pink and ridged in others- in this light it didn't matter. It all melted away under the spell of the morning; of the birds outside the window; of the damp tendrils of hair that curled about her cheeks; of the pout of her pink lips as she murmured something in her sleep. The scars were there, yet they weren't, and he could see her as she was beneath them, under the peace of the moment.

As he wished she could be- as he wished she could see herself.

He felt something inside him shift, change and grow; and he knew he'd made a decision.

Very gently, he eased his head over and dared press his lips to her forehead as he had last night. Then he gingerly lifted her arm and tucked it back under the blanket. She made a small, dissatisfied noise, but in another second her brow had smoothed and she was sleeping peacefully once more. Draco rearranged the covers, adjusted the bin at the side of her bed, and refilled her glass of water. Then he slipped from the room and pulled the door partway behind him; and made his way up the stairs, towards the sound of the running tap.

* * *

**AN: Hahaha! Take THAT, minions! I psyched you out! Muahahaha! *wanders off, laughing maniacally***


	34. Life Began

**I don't own diddly. I mean, Harry Potter. I don't own either of those things.**

**AN: Tired Margot is tired. If there are mistakes in this chapter, too bad; I'll fix them later. Right now, I'm going to bed. It's like, two in the friggin morning, here. Hot damn.**

* * *

Draco stopped outside the bathroom door and knocked lightly. He heard the tap shut off and a second later his father's muffled, "Yes?"

"Dad, it's me," he said and his father opened the door, one hand on the knob and the other holding a towel to his face as he dried it. He raised his brows. "You shaved."

"Yes, I think I've finally gotten the gist of it. What do you say?" Lucius modeled his clean chin and neck for Draco, who crossed his arms and nodded approvingly, a weak smile on his face.

"That's brilliant, Dad."

"I rather thought you'd appreciate it," Lucius responded readily, then slipped the towel back over its bar. "Did you have a question, Draco?"

Draco shook himself and leaned in the doorway. "Yeah…I have an idea. About our choices. About Zabini."

Lucius nodded and gestured out the door; and Draco turned and started for their room, with Lucius following him closely.

The older man closed the door behind them after they reached the room and took a seat on his bed; while Draco began to pull on his clothing for the morning chores. Lucius watched his son quietly for a minute as he tugged on his jeans with shaking hands; and finally, feeling suddenly uncomfortable and admittedly concerned, he spoke.

"Tell me."

* * *

Hermione woke to bright afternoon sun streaming through her bedroom windows. When her eyes finally cracked open in the glare, she threw one belligerent look at the offending shades and curtains and then turned and burrowed back under her covers.

The shades on the windows pulled themselves down in response; and she peeked out from under the blanket again a second later, this time eyeing the windows warily.

What had just happened? Had the shades been down before? She shook her head sleepily, peering about herself with bleary eyes; and saw the cloth, bottle of ibuprofen, and water glass on the nightstand. Her eyes widened some and she finally sat up, rubbing at her face. She felt like she'd just slept for twelve hours; like she'd swallowed cotton; and, judging by the way her clothes were sticking to her in some places and stiff with dried sweat in others, like she'd run a marathon in her sleep. Never mind what had happened just now with the shades; what had happened last night?

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and shivered lightly, then reached for her robe that was lying over the footboard. Sliding her arms in and pulling it up over her shoulders, she felt a little better. She reached for the glass and swallowed some of the water.

Ok, she was almost on the way to human. But that still didn't answer her question about what had gone on last night. She could remember…the nightmare. And then…someone had come downstairs and woken her up, she thought. But she honestly couldn't recall if that had been a continuation of the dream, or not. Then she'd gone back to sleep…

Wait. Someone had woken her up. She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbed her face again. Who had woken her up? They'd held her, she remembered that.

Her eyes snapped open again. Oh, hell. It can only be one of two people, she told herself. Work it out, know-it-all.

Glancing up, she saw her bedroom door was only partially closed, and all hope that the night before had been a fever dream vanished. She took another determined drink of water and set the glass down hard on the nightstand. Then she pressed her feet into the floor and rose. She was pleased to find that although her legs felt a little weak, she wasn't having any trouble staying atop them.

Hermione pulled her robe tighter about her frame and eyed the doorway nervously, then cast another glance at her closed shades. It was afternoon and time she faced the day; and whatever had happened last night. Even if all she could remember was a strong pair of wiry arms and a head of blonde hair.

Her room did hold the lingering scent of Davidoff, but that didn't really tell her anything, considering both men smelled like it. Shaking her head, Hermione put one foot in front of the other and forced herself out of her bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen; from whence the smell of cooking food and coffee was wafting.

Had she taught either of them to make coffee? She couldn't remember.

But she could remember the feel of someone's lips upon hers, and she felt a sudden blush rise to her cheeks. She walked into the kitchen anyway. Lucius was standing at the counter, his back to her, his hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Oh, hell. That hair- she remembered that hair…didn't she?

Hermione cleared her throat. What did she say? How did she apologize for what had happened?

Lucius turned about briefly and smiled at her.

"Ah. You're awake. Good…afternoon?" He waved the paring knife at her and then turned back to the cutting board. Hermione shifted some and moved a little further into the kitchen.

"I…about last night…" Her voice trailed off. She felt less than thrilled over what she was about to say. And then Lucius spoke, interrupting her thoughts as she tried to gather her courage.

"Last night- yes, Draco told me what happened, although I must confess I never heard a thing. Those pills are quite effective. Keep me out the entire night."

"Draco," Hermione breathed, feeling as if she'd had the piss and air knocked from her in one go.

"That's right. I understand you were running a fever. Working too hard, not enough rest, I imagine," Lucius went on, turning about and setting a plate of some sliced fruit on the table in front of her. He waved the knife again.

"Sit, eat," he said. "You need to regain your strength. Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Hermione replied, feeling confused, horrified, and relieved all at once. She sat and stared at the fruit. So, it had been Draco last night. His arms. His lips. Not Lucius.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that, about any of it. And Draco had told Lucius about her fever, about sitting up with her, but not about the kiss. There was no way Lucius would be behaving this way if Draco had said something- would he?

Then again, why would Draco say anything? He'd made it perfectly clear, despite their growing companionship, that he didn't like her, that his best wish was to have his freedom. That she was merely a means to an end. She sighed and picked at the fruit, took a few bored bites of it.

Lucius noticed her silence and turned to look at her more closely. Draco was right, the girl- woman, she's a woman, Lucius, he told himself again. No, not that, he added a second later. A witch. He smiled wryly and poured her a glass of water instead, setting it before her and then taking the seat opposite her. He watched her pick at her fruit listlessly and narrowed his eyes. Either way, Draco was right and she definitely was looking weary and ill. The excitement of the last day must have brought on the sudden illness, and added on top of her regular habits, it was no wonder.

Hermione noticed Lucius watching her and glanced up at him.

"So, why did you make coffee?" she asked suddenly, fishing for conversation.

"Draco needed something to keep awake," he replied. "He was up the better part of the night, then out to the barn again bright and early for his chores. I try to help, but I swear he has a hand with the beasts I simply cannot fathom."

"My horses, you mean?" Hermione asked, finally smiling some as well.

"Yes," Lucius said. "They respond to him- mostly, I suspect, because he always did make a rather convincing bully. But there's respect there, I think."

"You respond to them-"

"Exactly, Hermione," Lucius replied, raising a brow. "I respond to them, but not the other way round."

Hermione let that pass. She believed that given enough time anybody could make connections with the creatures, make progress. Forge relationships. It wasn't so different from human beings, after all. But she recognized that no matter what signs of life Lucius was displaying; no matter how lucid he was with them, how easy his speech came; that a part of him was still back in that shell. Back in that night he lost his all; and until he was ready to come back and really try, nothing she said or did would change his mind. He would only make a physical recovery, and never an emotional one. She only hoped, for Draco's sake, that he'd reach the right decision sooner, rather than later. Still, it was better to let him know that he was wanted, here.

She didn't reach out and take his hand, or anything corny like that. She simply looked at him seriously and murmured, "Your son needs you."

Lucius returned her gaze and looked as if he was about to respond, when a sound behind them ended the moment.

"Touching conversation?" came the slightly snide voice. Hermione flushed and turned her head to look up at Draco. Lucius stood, shaking his head slightly, and turned back to the counter.

"Just talking," Hermione replied, though her voice shook some. Not from fear. From the nearness of him, knowing what had happened last night. It all came flooding back the moment she saw him, albeit still hazy. She did recall rather clearly how he'd forced himself away from her; how he'd had the perfect opportunity to take advantage of her and hadn't. Her thoughts must have been clear in her eyes, because Draco's brows drew together and he brushed past her, unwilling to meet her eyes again. The set of his shoulders was accusing and it read, really? You think me capable of that? After knowing what your life has been? After living here, and crying on your shoulder and having you cry on mine, you can still think that of me?

It's not you, she wanted to tell him, Lucius' presence be damned. It's the fact that you're a man. And I know you can't help that, but it's been so long…

But she didn't say any of those things, and neither did he, and Lucius was definitely still in the room.

"Need help with anything, Dad?" Draco asked and Lucius shook his head.

"These cookbooks are quite clever," he replied. "And I did peel a potato or two in my youth. The house elves did not do everything, you know. So, if you would like to take a bath and change, or speak to Hermione about-"

"I'll shower," Draco said hastily, cutting his father off and then hurrying from the room with a last glance at Hermione. "Won't be a minute," he called over his shoulder and the door swung shut after him.

Hermione watched him go, confused again, but determined not to be left out of things this time.

"I need to get cleaned up, too," she said to Lucius and shoved back from the table herself, before scurrying out after Draco.

Lucius turned to see the back of her head as it disappeared behind the swinging door. He shrugged, then turned back to the onion he was chopping. Life was for the young. Let them have their strange squabbles and secret rendezvous. He had a casserole to make.

* * *

"Draco-" Hermione caught the hem of his shirt as he was climbing the stairs and he turned to look at her, exasperation plain in his eyes.

And something else quite plain, as well.

She ignored both. "Draco, what did your father mean? Speak to me about what?"

"About the way I assaulted you last night, clearly, since it's going to be a problem for our budding captive slash guardian relationship," he shot back.

Hermione glared at him. He rather missed the peacefulness he'd seen on her face that morning.

"You're much prettier when you smile," he added suddenly. "Although not much really helps, does it?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. She had very few pretensions about her appearance anymore, but for him to say that, and just because he was feeling sullen and insulted… She yanked hard on the shirt.

"You son of- you bloody-"

"Don't waste all your insults at once, Hermione," he went on and her eyes grew very large.

And very full of tears. Oh, shit.

"Hermione, I-"

"Shut it," she hissed at him. "You know, we don't have to make anything of what happened last night, but if you are going to insist on being such a ponce you can just go bloody hang yourself for all I care-"

She let go of his shirt, clapped both hands over her mouth. Draco stared down at her. And though he knew it was cruel, he opened his mouth again anyhow.

"Is that what you'd prefer?" he asked, his voice cool.

The tears started to slip from those big, sleepy cow eyes and she shook her head, hands still over her mouth. With an aggrieved sigh he didn't quite mean, Draco turned about, grabbed her by the upper arm, and marched her down the stairs and to her room. He sat her on the edge of her bed and tossed the tissues to her, then refilled her water glass for her. Then he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He waited.

After a minute or so of quiet sniffling, he gave it another try.

"I didn't mean to- I shouldn't have snapped at you. You've every right to be angry with me. I intruded on your privacy last night, but you were ill. I thought I was doing the right thing. And the other thing…we don't have to talk about it. Ever. Or only if you want to. I didn't mean it to happen."

"I know you didn't want it," Hermione said softly. She bit her lip and tried to think of the best thing to say, to dismiss it. "I was just- ill, you're right, and I'd been dreaming of Ron. I guess it was a bad combination."

She glanced up at Draco and thought she saw a flicker of uncertainty, or even anger, there, but it was difficult to tell. Her head felt fuzzy from these latest tears.

For his part, Draco was threatening his traitorous heart with death. He swallowed, avoided her eyes.

"You're absolutely right," he replied quietly. "I mean, yeah, I'm a bloke, and you're a woman, but that's about the size of it. I apologize, Hermione. Nothing against you…"

"But this isn't exactly the best situation," she supplied. "And-"

"It's not that I don't like you alright," he interrupted. "I just don't like any of this. You understand. It's pretty damned humiliating, the entire thing."

Hermione agreed with her silence and after a minute Draco walked back to the door. He had to get out of there now, so he could take a shower and scrub the lies off his skin, the filthy sensation of having just betrayed a woman's trust and hospitality with utter garbage.

Not that any amount of soap would remove that sad tilt of her mouth from his memory.

"Oh, you never said, Draco, about your father-"

"That- it's just an idea I had, about, well. This thing with us and Zabini. I'd actually rather wait to talk to you about it with Potter here, too. Is that alright?"

"I…suppose so," Hermione said. "Would you like me to have him come over tonight?"

"Nah," Draco replied. "It's getting on towards night already and it's been a long day. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she said, though he thought she might, actually. Might mind very much, in fact.

"Right. I'll just head upstairs, then. All the horses are in for the night, everything got done earlier, so you've nothing to worry about."

She nodded and he turned to go.

"Draco," she called after him. He stopped again.

"Yeah?"

That happy smile- the one he'd seen so rarely- filtered across her face again and he looked anywhere but at her. If he looked at her when she was smiling that way she'd be sure to know his secret. There was no way he'd be able to keep it out of his eyes, off his face.

Though the words she spoke were nearly enough to undo him, anyway.

"Thank you. Not just for the chores. For last night. For _all_ of last night," she added in a quiet, fierce tone. Because, she thought, even if he didn't want it, not really, and it was just my messed up emotions playing tricks on me, it was a kiss worth thanking somebody for. If it meant nothing else, it meant that much- that it had awakened her in a way her kiss with Lucius in the barn had not.

Of course, that could have just been the effect of the fever.

Draco managed to recover himself long enough to nod at her, a wry expression on his face, and then make his escape.

For her part, Hermione continued to sit on her bed, shoulders straight and head bowed, until she heard the pipes overhead making noise. Then she slowly stood and closed her bedroom door, and went to take a shower of her own.

* * *

**AN: I hope you all caught the delicate subtleties of the situation up there. If not, read it again. Tell me what you think. Can you smell what Lucius is cooking? ...that was totally a reference to an old wrestling thing and has no bearing on the plot. It was not in any way a hint of any kind. Ok? The Dramione should be pretty damn obvious at this point, you silly, silly, SILLY people. ...so tired. This AN has been brought to you by the letter sleep.**


	35. Over the Line

**I don't own Harry Potter, nor will I ever, thus making me zero dollars off this fiction.**

**AN: I know some of you practically hero worship me by this point (please, don't burst my bubble), but I really don't have all the answers. And sometimes you won't like what I write. *sigh* Keep that in mind when you reach the end of tonight's chapter, eh?**

* * *

If both Draco and Hermione were having trouble sleeping that night, Harry was positively an insomniac. A day and a half of watching Zabini, waiting for the Malfoys to make a decision, was driving him mad. Number one, it was excruciating to be at Ginny's flat without Ginny, and number two, he wanted to rip Zabini's face off.

Somehow, he managed to pass the night in relative calm, sitting on the furniture he'd reparoed yesterday; and squeezing his hands tightly into fists to keep himself from avadaing the git in the next room; who insisted on throwing something against the wall in anger every ten minutes.

It was nine in the morning when he figured he'd reached the end of his rope. He'd just gotten up to go do the little bastard in when his pager went off. He checked the number, saw it was Hermione, and thanked all the gods he could name. Then he went over to Ginny's phone and dialed Hermione right away.

"How are you?" he asked as soon as she picked up.

"Surviving," she replied. "How are you? How is Ginny?"

"We're both alright. Ginny's actually talking to Molly."

"Oh, that's good," Hermione breathed. "That's really…" She'd lost her own parents to a car accident when they'd been in Australia that seventh year and Ginny's falling out with her mother had always affected Hermione deeply. Which, come to think of it, might also explain some of her feelings towards Lucius. Not that she wanted to examine the latent daddy issues that interest might indicate. She focused on Harry again. "…really good," she finished.

"It is," Harry agreed. "And the Malfoys?"

"They're doing fine. Draco's kind of taken over things here- not in a bad way," she hurried to reassure Harry. "I wasn't feeling well yesterday, so they let me sleep. All this digging things up…you know."

"I do," he responded softly. "But you're feeling better now?"

"Oh, yes," she said. Harry had no idea. "And apparently Draco has some kind of idea about what to do- he wants to talk to you about it."

"An idea? What is it?"

"He wouldn't tell me. He wants to talk about it with you, first."

"And you took no for an answer?"

Hermione frowned. "I do have a heart, Harry Potter," she said with as much dignity as possible. "This has been just as difficult for them as it has for me-"

"I know, I do," he said hastily. "By the way, I did question Zabini more while I was here. I…don't know if you want all the details, but I have them, now, if you're interested. If it would help."

"No, I actually spoke with Lucius about it that night," she said quietly. "He told me what he knew. Even though it was all secondhand information, I believe him. It's the only thing that makes sense."

Harry heard the shift in tone, the self-doubt and blame that crept into her voice. "Hermione, it's not your fault. You had no idea what was going on. There's no way you could have known, after everything else-"

"I know that," she said. "But that doesn't make it any easier. And it makes my violation that much more-" She broke off and Harry clung to the sound of her ragged breathing. At least it meant she was still on the line.

"Look, don't think about it. I'll be there as soon as I can, alright? Won't be but a few minutes, really. Go watch…Draco feed the horses or something. But whatever you do, don't sit there in your room being morbid. I absolutely…forbid it, you understand?" he finished, sounding as commanding as possible.

Hermione let out a gasp of laughter. "You forbid it, do you? Well, in that case I guess I should go watch my serfs. Make sure they're not mucking things up."

"That's right," Harry replied firmly. "See you soon."

"Alright, Harry," Hermione said, still sounding amused and incredulous. "Cheers."

He hung up and then walked out to stand before Zabini's door again. He knocked once.

"I'm leaving again. Try not to kill yourself while I'm gone."

His only answer was the sound of something shattering against the door. Harry shrugged, reinforced the wards to be on the safe side, and turned and walked out of the apartment. He paused on the landing to lock the door behind him, then apparated away, without another thought for the scoundrel inside.

* * *

Hermione wandered out to the paddocks, where Draco was, indeed, busy taking care of the horses by refilling the water troughs. She lifted a hand to him in greeting and he responded by turning away and focusing on the faucet. She rolled her eyes. It was hard to tell if he was still upset over the whole kiss thing, or if this was just his normal, surly self coming through.

"You've been really game the last two weeks," she said as she approached him. "I just wanted to let you know that I noticed. I think it's great. Thank you."

He shrugged and started to wind the hose back up. "Least I can do. What I'm here for, right?"

"Right…but you didn't have to be this cooperative, or nice."

He gave her an exasperated look. What the hell? One kiss and she suddenly was being extra solicitous, as if trying to make up for it. When the only way she could really make up for it was by letting him kiss her again- not that he'd ever let her know that.

"Neither did you," he said pointedly. She flushed some.

"It's nice to know that snarky little ferret is still under there somewhere," she replied, giving him a look that could peel the rind off an orange.

He started to sneer, thought better of it, and slung the hose over his shoulder, then started for the barn.

"My scars are on my back, Hermione," he said. "And they were the result of whippings by other people. I've nothing to hide behind."

His meaning didn't go unnoticed and she glared at him. "And you don't call this behavior right now hiding? I think you're more upset by our encounter the other night than I am, which is a bloody miracle, all things considered."

He kept walking and she hurried to catch up, then swung about in front of him, putting a hand on his chest and stopping him in his tracks.

"Seriously, Draco, what's the matter? Is it my face, or my blood status that bothers you more?"

Draco stared down at her, confusion and then anger working its way across his face. He reached up and grabbed her hand with the full intent of moving it out of his way, but instead ended up holding it to his chest. He knew his heart was pounding beneath his ribs.

"You feel that, Hermione?" he hissed at her. "That's my heart, and it beats the same way everybody else's does. Pumps the same blood through me that it does through you. You think I give a damn about blood purity anymore? After everything we've _all_ been through? Go to hell. I stopped caring about anything but my family a long fucking time ago." And I'd like to keep it that way, he added mentally.

Hermione tried to jerk her hand away, but he held it tight a minute longer, eyes boring into hers, before he flung her hand away and stalked around her and into the barn. Hermione stood there in silence, staring into space, confusion on her face, before she turned about and watched him go.

When he got to the barn doors, he paused and looked back at her. Their eyes met again. His full of sadness, hers full of puzzlement. He turned away and moved into the darkness of the barn.

Hermione swallowed hard and clenched her hands into fists. Should she follow him? Have it out? Or let him sulk?

Then again, what was there to have out? Nothing. He'd explained himself fairly well, she thought…not that he'd explained anything to do with the kiss, not really. Except now she knew he wasn't acting strange because of her muggle status. And weren't his muggle studies still going well? He was soaking the information up like a sponge. So then why…

A tingle up her spine told her that someone had entered the property and she turned about to look back to the house. So, Harry must have arrived. That meant she should call Draco. With a small shake of her head, she started for the barn as well.

She didn't stop to wonder why Harry's arrival had registered with her. Her mind was too full of a certain blonde wizard.

* * *

Once inside the barn, Draco's mind assaulted itself with all the stupid things he'd just done and said. What was he thinking, really? Goading her the way he had been, giving her cryptic remarks like he had last night and now this morning, doing everything except being straightforward with his feelings. Ah, but that was the problem, wasn't it- that he had feelings at all when he clearly oughtn't. Or at least oughtn't be having those particular ones…if he could even identify them properly anymore. Hadn't he just told himself days ago, when they were in London, that love couldn't even exist as an idea between them, let alone a reality?

He'd only been with her, what, two and a half weeks. Number one, that wasn't nearly long enough to fall in love with a witch who'd not only driven him crazy in school- and not in the good way- but that he'd found barely tolerable. Number two, his mind was playing tricks on him. Just because he'd seen her do several sensual things- like ride a horse and give his father a massage- did not mean he found her attractive, per se. It merely meant he was so fucking deprived that at this point in his life he'd find _any_ woman who engaged in such activities attractive. Number three, it was highly, completely inappropriate. Sure, other witches who gained guardianship of former dark wizards used them as sex slaves- or worse- but that didn't make it ok. It was, in fact, supposed to be against the rules of the contracts the said witches signed.

And Hermione was a stickler for the rules, wasn't she? No, it was so wrong it practically made it alright; that was how twisted it all was. Her being his captor, in control of him and his father; not to mention all the other issues she had. Not to mention all the issues _he_ had. And then there was whatever in hell was going on between her and his father. Some sort of relationship there, he knew it. Then again, it was only natural, wasn't it, for a person to build a relationship with one's therapist, one's confidant…let alone someone you'd been living with for two and a half weeks.

Which brought him back to the start of his argument and the feelings he was very concerned were going to take over his bloody life at any minute.

He was so fucking _confused_. It wasn't like during the war, when he'd known he had to do the Dark Lord's bidding or die; or even after the war when it was take care of his father and run for his life or die. This was so much more complicated- and he was so fucked up he couldn't even begin to do complicated anymore.

With a loud swear he threw the hose into its place and then kicked it several times for good measure. There was a small noise behind him and he turned only to find Hermione standing there, staring at him, one hand over mouth.

"Draco…" she began, but couldn't complete the sentence. After all, what could she say? Sorry your being in my care complicates your life, it's complicating mine too, you know. Perhaps we can discuss it over tea, later.

That would never work. He returned her stare, his face red with shame, and then gave a violent gesture before raking a hand through his hair.

"What is it?"

"Harry's here," she answered quietly. "You said you wanted to talk to him."

"Ah, right. Yes, I do." He took a few shaky breaths, let his hand drop. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Take your time," Hermione replied, realizing that now was not the time to ask any more questions- no matter how badly she wanted to learn their answers. She gave a small wave and turned and left him alone again. His eyes followed her as she walked away and he stayed where he was, waiting for the sound of the door closing before he breathed again.

He kicked at the hose a few more times. There was a loud, curious _mrawr_ from below and he looked down to find one of the elusive barn cats eyeing him, her golden eyes fixed on his face. He gave a soft snort and then knelt down. The cat let him run a hand over her ears for a few seconds before she stood and trotted away again, belly hanging low. He raised an eyebrow and wondered if Hermione was aware she was going to have kittens on her hands soon. Then he smirked.

So, even the barn cats got more action than he did. Lawless creatures…and lucky bastards. Life would be much simpler if he could just act on instinct without that damn conscience of his. That was part of why he kept pushing Hermione, wasn't it? Why he'd snapped at her yesterday, why he was sullen today. It all came back to Zabini and the choice that had to be made. He knew what he was really afraid of, after all. He was afraid that even after making the right choice- and his father agreed, it did seem like the noble thing to do- that he'd regret it. That she wouldn't show him even the tiniest shred of decency over it. That he wouldn't see a stricken look on her face, that she wouldn't protest his choice, that…well, he was afraid, basically, that she'd agree with him and that would be the end of it.

That for all his debate and doing the right thing- not just for he and his father, but for her sake, too- she wouldn't see it, or would see it and wouldn't care. And he wasn't sure he could handle her not caring, for all the arguing he was doing with himself.

Because no matter what he was feeling, if it was real, or not, her opinion mattered. The way she looked at him, the way she treated him…it all mattered, and he was only fooling himself if he thought it didn't. Which was why he'd been so cagey with her the last twenty-four hours. He simultaneously wanted her to feel something for him in return, yet was certain she would feel absolutely nothing…and the suspense was turning him quite cranky. Which was the polite term for it.

With a hefty sigh, he rose again, dusted his hands off, and made his way out of the barn. It was time to face the music of his own making. And who knew, maybe his guardian would surprise him. After all, she'd already surprised him with that kiss, hadn't she? Not to mention the way she wouldn't let it go, now. Which he supposed, in retrospect, ought to tell him something.

But he always had been a bit thick when it came to her kind. Bloody Gryffindors.

* * *

Harry was just knocking on the front door when Hermione walked around the side of the house. She waved a hand.

"Come around back," she said and he stepped off the front porch to follow her. He fell into step beside her and she was letting him into the kitchen in no time. "I was out in the barn," she went on and Harry frowned suddenly. If she'd been out in the barn, how had she known he was there already?

"Draco will be in soon," she said and Harry nodded and took a seat at the table.

"That was good timing," he said cautiously. Hermione shrugged and started the kettle for tea.

"I knew you were here."

"Oh? I didn't realize you could see your drive from the barn."

The hand that had been reaching for mugs stilled and then Hermione slowly finished lowering the mugs onto the counter. She turned and looked at Harry.

"You know…I can't see the drive from there."

"Then…"

Hermione paled and a second later the kettle began whistling. Startled, she swept it off the burner and set it down with a bang before turning off the stove top. Her hands were shaking a little as she poured the water out.

"I don't know," she murmured. "I…felt it. In the wards."

"Hermione," Harry began slowly, "they aren't those kinds of wards. They aren't tied into you. You shouldn't have felt anything."

"I know." Her voice was barely a whisper now. She turned back around and shook her head. "I don't know," she tried again, clearing her throat some. "Maybe I've gone psychic on you."

Harry didn't smile at her attempted humor. "Has anything else happened? Anything unexplainable?"

Hermione saw where he was going immediately and shook her head again. "No. Absolutely not. I know what you're thinking, Harry Potter, and it's simply too-"

"You did apparate two days ago," he pointed out. "And it takes a lot of magic and a lot of willpower to do it easily, as you did."

"We didn't even end up where I meant us to-"

"Yes, but aside from splitting headaches you were both alright. I think you threw yourself off balance, Hermione."

"Harry…"

"You can't go that long without doing magic and then pull something like that out of your sleeves and expect your body- the magical side of your nature- to just go back to normal. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if things like this started to happen, regardless of your practicing magic or not."

Hermione crossed her arms and continued to shake her head while Harry went on.

"You're the therapist, this should make sense to you- what if what you went through was what was keeping your magic in check all this time? What if it was just buried under the emotional weight of that whole experience; and once you started to actually deal with things and face them head on, it allowed you to-"

"Oh, for god's sake, stop it, Harry," Hermione interrupted him. "That's the stupidest- I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it. You're here to talk to Draco, anyway, not me. So let's pretend like-"

"Pretend like nothing ever happened? And how well has that been working for us, so far?"

Hermione pressed her lips together, then walked over to him and set a mug down on the table in front of him so hard some of the tea sloshed over the side. Harry leaned back some, surprised at her vehemence, though he knew he deserved it.

"If you weren't my friend I've half a mind to-"

"Am I interrupting?" Draco asked from the open doorway. Hermione glanced up, features still ashen, shook her head, and then stalked back over to the counter. Draco took in the partly spilled tea and the looks on both Potter's and Hermione's faces, and put two and two together. He decided to brave the room anyway, and sat down at the table as well.

Hermione set another mug before him a second later. Then it was back to her station. Draco eyed Harry.

"Dad should be in shortly."

Harry merely nodded and lifted his mug. Draco looked to Hermione. She was needlessly wiping the countertops.

He looked back at Harry. "So, what the fuck is going on?"

Harry may have spit out his tea again. Just a little. Possibly. He stared at Draco.

"Er, excuse me?"

"Oh, please. It's obvious someone's picked another fight again. I am the reigning git in this household, after all. I can smell personal trouble miles away. Now what is it?"

Of course, his father would choose that moment to walk in.

"Ah, are we all here? Then let's get to it, shall we?" Lucius said. He smiled at Hermione, taking the proffered mug and asking if she needed any help before he also sat at the table.

Draco watched these proceedings with a wrathful eye. His father ignored him. Seconds later, Hermione was seated as well and staring into her mug of tea while the other two men watched Draco expectantly.

"Well, Malfoy?" Harry prompted. "Let me hear it."

Draco licked his lips nervously. Now was the moment of truth. Was he making the right choice? Would it be rewarded suitably, or would he regret it later? There was only one way to find out. With a deep breath and the hope that he sounded more certain to the others than he did to his own ears, he began speaking.

* * *

**AN: HAHAHAHAHA. And cliffhanger. See you tomorrow night, ladies and gents. (Not that I honestly think there are any gents reading this, but I could be wrong. So, hello and goodnight, theoretical gents!) Also, I hope this chapter made more sense to you than it did to me.**


	36. Let Me In

**I don't own Harry Potter at all and make no money here and everything ever belongs to J.K. Rowling. EVER.**

**AN: I apologize for not posting last night. I was halfway done with the chapter and decided it sucked and started all over again. So, hence the missed posting last night. I do hope you enjoy this rewrite, however. I worked super hard on it. All for yooooou!!!!!**

* * *

Draco tried to at least look Potter in the eyes as he talked, but he avoided glancing at Hermione at all costs. There was too much at stake- his confusion (because he absolutely refused to attribute those feelings to his heart), his future, his father's future. So, he spoke to Potter like Hermione wasn't even there, although he noticed his father kept darting glances in her direction. (The hell.)

"Dad and I agree this is the best plan," he started out. "Things can stay…buried, if you want them to, but you'll still have any evidence you need if you decide to prosecute."

Harry gave him a skeptical look and he forged ahead.

"You should take our memories of those two weeks, and particularly of the night in question. All three of us- Zabini included. You can store them easily and always tell people at a later date- if you decide to bring it all out- that you were just investigating things on your own. As a favor to your friends, or something like that. You're the Head Auror, no one will question you- no one should, at any rate."

"But if you all are still here, still presumed alive-"

"Let me finish, Potter," Draco said and Harry shut up, waved a hand. Draco went on, "After you have the memories, you can help Zabini escape first. Ginny and Hermione have both said they don't care if he's brought to trial or not, since they don't want things dug up." Here he dared a glance at her. "Am I right?"

Hermione made a small noise that was probably agreement and he continued. "So, he goes first. Dad needs a little more time to recover, so we'd follow in our own escape a month or so later. All three of us presumed dead, out of your lives, the end."

"And the memories?" Harry asked. Something about the plan was niggling with him, making him question the Malfoys' motivations. He crossed his arms and gave Draco a direct look.

Draco returned it with a frown and a frustrated sigh.

"I already said, didn't I? You'll have them in storage and you can do what you like with them. As much as I'd love our family name cleared, it's not us who suffered the most during that time. And it's their decision."

Hermione decided she couldn't stay quiet any longer. She stared at Lucius and he returned her gaze calmly.

"Don't you want Narcissa's sacrifice known? Don't you want that much for yourself?"

Lucius gave her a knowing look and shook his head. "She's gone, and nothing I can do will bring her back to me. Her last wish was that your suffering should end, Hermione. This is the best way to honor her memory."

"By making me decide what to do."

Draco gave her a sharp look. Did she sound…resentful? After the sacrifice they'd just made for her peace of mind? He leaned towards her.

"We aren't making you do anything, Hermione. We're letting you decide. It should be your choice, since you didn't have one before. But either way, we'll be out of your life in another two months at the most. I apologize for not being more solicitous of your feelings in the matter," he finished heatedly, shoving his chair back and standing up.

"There. I've told you what I think is best. Dad agrees. It's up to you what to do about. I'm going for a bloody walk."

Before Hermione could say another word, the backdoor was banging shut and they could hear him stalking away off the porch and into the grass. Harry looked after him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Hell," Hermione swore. "I…that came out wrong."

"Did it?" Lucius asked coolly. "So you want control of the situation, but at the same time you want someone else to make all the hard decisions for you."

Hermione's face went white and Harry glared at Lucius.

"That's not fair-"

"Life is not fair, boy," Lucius hissed at him before turning to Hermione again. "As well you know. Draco came to me with this idea because he thought it was the right thing to do. Keep in mind that it doesn't matter what you decide to do with the memories. Even if our name is cleared, he can never come back to it. Consider that before you accuse him of forcing anything upon you, witch."

Then Lucius was up from his chair and out of the kitchen. Hermione and Harry sat in silence, listening to his footsteps recede down the hall.

"Well," Hermione said softly after a few minutes. "I really can't do anything right anymore."

Harry gave her a sympathetic look. "That's not true. All three of you are incredibly stressed right now. I'm more surprised one of you hasn't accidentally killed another, than at this little argument."

"Little?" she said with a look at Harry that told him exactly what she thought of his descriptive skills.

"Little," he replied firmly. "You reacted poorly because you were surprised and you probably need some time to get used to the idea. But Lucius is right- there's absolutely no pressure on you or Ginny to bring it to trial again. Not if they're already gone."

Hermione nodded. "I know- honestly, I-" She broke off, stared at her hands. When she looked up at Harry again, her eyes were full of tears. "It's all so much, Harry. Finding all this out, and now to have their decision so soon afterward…I expected them to want to go to trial. I did. I never thought they'd _both_ be willing to simply escape and be done with it, to give Ginny and myself the chance at peace, if we want it. It's so…"

"Out of character?" Harry provided and Hermione gave a half laugh.

"No…they've changed, I know they have. And it's a wonderful gift they're giving us. I just wasn't prepared for it."

"I think Lucius knows that," Harry said. "Even if he did have harsh words just now."

"Yes, but Draco-"

"He's younger. He doesn't see things the same way his father does," Harry explained. "I mean, here he was, making this grand gesture, and you go and bollocks it up for him-"

"Harry, what on earth-"

Harry looked at her pointedly. "Look, Hermione, exhaustion makes a bloke do funny things sometimes, and the Malfoys, Draco in particular, are as tired of this lifestyle of fear and running as you are. But there's only one other reason I can think of that he'd sacrifice this chance at freedom for himself and his father, access to their frozen accounts, the chance to go back to their ancestral home, to do magic again…"

Hermione swallowed hard and stood up. She knew where Harry was going with this and she didn't like it one bit. An accidental kiss was one thing. Imagined feelings were quite another.

She began bustling about, removing mugs from the table, cleaning away the tea items.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said.

Harry shrugged as if to say, alright, it's dropped. For now. After all, he was only Head Auror, not a relationship expert. But he was definitely going to be checking in on Hermione more often from now on. After all, he knew well enough that so much time in close quarters with the same few people could do strange things to one's head…and heart.

"So, that leaves your opinion on the matter," Harry said.

"I- what?" Hermione replied, startled. Needless to say, her mind had not been in the room. Not since Harry's so very helpful (by which she meant useless and distracting) observations.

"On what you think of their plan," Harry explained patiently, an amused smile on his face. "Do you agree with it?"

"I guess I have to," Hermione murmured, turning around. She washed the dishes quietly for a moment. Harry waited.

"It's a good plan," she finally added.

"I agree," Harry said. "Well, that's it. I'll head back, inform Zabini, talk to Ginny. Then I'll set things in motion."

"Alright," Hermione responded. She turned and gave Harry a hug good bye. "Thank you for coming out."

"Of course," he said, holding her close. "And don't let the Malfoys bother you any. Whatever any of you are feeling…well, who determines what's normal and what isn't in a situation like this one, eh?"

"Right. I'll keep that in mind," she replied wryly. Harry gave her an extra pat on the shoulder.

"Do that. I'll see you again soon. Cheers!"

Hermione waved to him silently, a small smile on her face, and watched him from the kitchen doorway as he walked down the hall and let himself out the front door. Then she returned to the sink and her thoughts, which were now as cloudy as dish water.

* * *

Harry passed Lucius on the way out and paused on the front steps.

"Hermione agrees your plan is the best idea," he called out and Lucius glanced up from the rose bush he'd been inspecting.

"How kind of her."

"Look, don't be a wanker about it," Harry said conversationally. Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't aware-"

"I know it's none of my business- except she is my best friend- and she'd probably kill me if she knew I was telling you this, but you should know why she was so upset, why she said the wrong thing."

"I'm listening," Lucius replied, giving Harry a bored glance.

Harry rolled his eyes and took a step towards the older man.

"She focused on that aspect of it, the memories, because she was so surprised that you'd decided to leave. She wasn't expecting it."

"Fascinating," Lucius murmured in that same droll tone, while looking anything _but_ bored. He gave Harry a guarded look. "And you saw fit to tell me…?"

"Because," Harry began, smiling politely, "if you or that dimwitted son of yours hurts her during your short time left here, we won't have to fake your deaths."

Lucius smirked, gave Harry a gentleman's nod, and exchanged a long look with him. Then Harry turned and started down the driveway, leaving Lucius to smell the first blooms of the season. Honestly, he had no real idea of what was going on between Hermione and those three. If it was friendship, understanding born from shared experience or care giving, or something more. But he figured it was better to be safe than sorry, and he knew he would be calling Hermione more often in the coming weeks.

Friends looked out for one another. It was just what they did…even if it meant intruding on one another's business frequently and without apology.

Hermione had taught him that one, herself.

* * *

Hours later, once Harry had checked in with Ginny and begun making proper arrangements, he went back to her flat and released Zabini so he could let him know what was going on. Zabini took it all less than well. Now he was giving Harry a murderous glare, who had no trouble returning the look.

"Have a problem, Zabini?"

"So, you get to hold me hostage for days and now you're telling me what I will and won't do? I don't even have a choice?"

"No, Zabini. Sorry about that. Did I forget to mention that you're already a convicted criminal? So, no. You don't have a choice."

"I was innocent-"

"Of all the accusation, yes. But in not sparing Hermione and Ginny those final weeks- you're guilty of more than cowardice there, Zabini, and you should be grateful I've agreed to go along with the Malfoys' plan on this. If it were up to me I'd just murder you outright. Instead, you get a second bloody chance. If you know what's good for you-"

"What's good for me? I'll tell you, Potter. I'd rather be dead. And if you think I'll go quietly into some muggle lifestyle, you're wrong."

"It's that or back to prison, Zabini. Which do you really prefer?"

Blaise's nostrils flared in anger and hatred. He could see Harry was right; there were no other options.

"My mother is still alive. How can you do this to her?"

"And on her eighth husband with an arm around two precious step-grandchildren. She hasn't lifted a finger for you since getting out and she's worried more about her own comfort since her highly publicized battle with cancer. You honestly think she cares anymore?" A sudden thought occurred to Harry. "She knew, didn't she?"

Blaise backed away, rubbed a hand over his neck. "I don't know what you mean."

"She knew about this mess. And she turned her back on you. I know she went to visit you more than once. How did she find out?" When Blaise didn't answer right away, Harry waved a hand. "Never mind. It'll all come out someday. Even if it never goes to trial."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I already told you the plan, Zabini. You need written instructions?"

"No. But this isn't right."

"As if you know what's right or wrong anymore. Look, Zabini. I'll be perfectly honest. This is it. This is the best chance you have at making a life for yourself. Of breaking free from everything that held you down before, made you what you are- spoiled, rich, and now angry and bitter. You listen to me good, Zabini. Take this chance and be glad for it. Walk away and don't ever look back. Remake yourself. Your life here, in the wizarding world, is finished anyway. Stop trying to hold onto something that disappeared a long time ago. I'm going to help you get set up, I promise. Trust me, I hate it as much as you do-"

"I doubt that," Blaise whispered. "I highly doubt that. And ok, I'll go along with it. With all of it. But you listen to me now, Potter. You'll regret this. Someday, you'll regret this choice."

Harry drew himself up, towered over the other wizard. "Was that a threat?"

"Does it matter at this point, Potter?"

Harry eyed Blaise coolly, arms crossed and a hard look on his face. He took a deep breath. Blaise returned his look inch for inch; and both men knew that they'd reached an impasse. Finally, Harry tilted his head.

"I'm doing this only for the sake of Ginny and Hermione," he murmured, voice as cool as his eyes. "And it seems to me that if you ever try to make good on that threat, you'll be the one regretting it. Just like you are, right now. Regretting your entire pathetic life and all your stupid choices, I mean."

Blaise flinched and broke the gaze first, looking away to the floor. His shoulders hunched.

"Just tell me what I have to do, Potter. And for the love of Merlin, stop telling me what I should and shouldn't be grateful for. It may not have seemed like much of a life or future to you, but it was still my own and it's all I've known. Don't expect me to thank you for this so-called second chance."

"That's fair," Harry replied. "Now sit down and shut it and I'll go over what I know so far."

Blaise followed instructions without protest, for the first time in a long while. Then again, he knew one caught more flies with honey- and he certainly planned on catching a few flies, once he was free; because whatever Potter thought of his plan, of this opportunity Blaise should be so bloody thankful for…it wouldn't do. Not at all. And Harry would regret it someday.

But for now, he would sit and shut up and do as he was told. And then he would have his revenge. Somehow, even if it took him years…the people responsible for putting him in the disgusting cage of a muggle life would pay. Freedom, Potter called it. How _humiliating_.

Yes, Harry Potter would regret this. Even if Blaise had never been a Death Eater, himself, he knew the most basic rule: take no hostages. And if you do take hostages, you don't let them live.

Harry continued to outline the most pertinent details, staying alert for signs of trouble from Blaise, but for the most part willing to believe in man's better nature. Not everyone always got a second chance- something Harry knew only too well- and he was happy to try and help advance peace in the wizarding community, even if it was gained by releasing embittered men into the muggle community. Most of his escapees had gone on to be quite productive in their own ways, or at the very least to lead quiet lives. Harry hoped fervently that Blaise would be able to put things behind him and move on the same way; partly because he knew he'd been quite serious- he would, on the one hand, gladly kill the man if it meant keeping his loved ones safe.

He could only pray Zabini had made the distinction as well.

* * *

Hermione and Draco avoided one another the rest of the day, until evening was coming on and the sun was streaming its last bright rays over the horizon. Lucius wandered about the property and the house, keeping to himself and making occasional conversation with Hermione, when she could focus on him long enough. They even apologized to one another for their harsh words. But Hermione remained distracted for the most part, lost in her thoughts and confused feelings. And Draco stayed out of sight.

It was only after she'd prepared a simple dinner and left it to keep warm in the oven that Hermione finally ventured out to search for him. Her steps took her through the small garden in back of the house first, where she could see signs he'd been through- footprints in the grass here, a disarranged blossom there. Leaves plucked from a nearby bush, snapped twigs. Signs of anger, at first, followed by deep thought. As her fingers brushed a bloom he must have stooped to smell only hours before, she felt strangely close to him, and very sorry for her words earlier.

Even if she didn't believe Harry's stupid hunch, she knew that she and Draco had come to rely on one another for companionship the last few weeks and it was quite likely he'd wanted to…repay the favor, so to speak. To give her something in return for treating him like a human being. Friends could want that for one another, without it meaning anything more.

With a sad smile, she made her way from the garden towards the paddock, cutting through a field. And of course, there he was: leaning over the fence, watching two of the horses in the ring chasing each other about, playing a game. Being young and frisky, enjoying their time together. Draco's face was peaceful, almost wistful, as he watched them. One of the horses noticed her approaching and greeted her with a bright whinny. At that, Draco turned and focused on her, but the peace didn't leave his expression. She raised a hand in a tentative wave and realized she was still holding one of the twigs he'd discarded earlier, in the garden. With a slight flush, she tossed it away and then strode up to the fence to join him.

"Hello," she murmured, settling in beside him. He propped his chin on his arms again and continued to watch the horses, with only an eye roll to acknowledge her. But it wasn't hostile. None of it had been, really. All the attitude, all the arguing, the cruelty…it was the only defense mechanism he had left. They were strays. The same as her.

"I apologize for how I reacted earlier," she went on. He didn't respond. "It's a good idea and I agree that it's probably the best solution. And I'm thankful, honestly," she added.

He lifted his head, looked at her. "Then why-"

"I wasn't expecting you to make that choice," she admitted. "I thought you would stay on, fight it in court. And…it would have been difficult, and I don't know that I would have liked it any, but you and your father…your mother's memory- you deserve that much."

"Are you saying…no," he ended abruptly, shaking his head. There was no point even going there. She wouldn't miss them, no matter how hard he wished it. "I can see why you were surprised, then. But this is the best choice for all of us."

"Is it?" Hermione asked, facing him fully. He looked at her again, surprise plain on his face.

"Hermione…I haven't liked this. The entire situation- there's no way for this to not be humiliating. But you've done what you could to make it a little better, and after knowing what you've gone through…" He glanced away. "You deserve peace, too. This seemed like the best way to give it to you. You get rid of your semi-permanent house guests and the past in one go."

She let out a shaky breath and looked outward again, taking in the frolicking horses, the peaceful grazers. Their coats were lit up gold and orange in the dying light.

"Then thank you. I won't say anything else about it, if you don't want me to."

"I'd rather you didn't," he replied quietly. "Believe me, if things could be different…but they aren't. They never will be. This is the best I can do."

She made a face, like she was trying to keep from crying, and leaned over the fence again. She spoke again after a long moment.

"Funny to think of you living like a muggle."

"And just when you're getting your magic back," he responded. She rolled her eyes at him.

"That topic is also strictly off limits."

Draco snorted and they fell to silence again. Several more minutes passed.

"To be fair, I never exactly lost it," Hermione muttered.

Draco let out a sharp laugh and turned to her, a grin upon his face.

"No, you didn't, did you?"

"That's right. So you better be nice to me."

"Me be nice to you? What do you call-"

"I call it collecting what's due me for all the years of mudblood insults and thwarting my friends at every turn."

"Oh, I see. In that case…" He sighed grievously and propped his chin on one hand. "It's _my_ last weeks as a wizard, you know. Don't I get to have a party? A grand farewell for the sacrificial lamb?"

"Princess theme do?" she asked sweetly and he laughed again. She felt her face split into an answering grin. "Come on, let's take this lot in for the night."

Draco pushed away from the fence and gave her an exaggerated bow in the direction of the gate.

"Your wish is my command."

Hermione waltzed past him, nose in the air, smirk on her lips. Draco glanced up from the bow and looked after her. The sun was streaking her hair the same shining jewel tones as her horses' coats; and it was bouncing up into natural waves, long held down by chemicals. And after her came the scent of orange and juniper.

He felt his heart do its strange little dance again and grit his teeth, then straightened up and followed her. If he had his way, these last few weeks would fly by in a barrage of perfect behavior and pleasant sunsets and shared smiles. Then he could leave and never have to know if what he was feeling was real, or imagined, and- if it was real- would she ever reciprocate.

* * *

**AN: That wasn't so bad, was it? More tomorrow, I hope. As long as I'm happy with it. But I've set the next phase of my evil plan in motion with this chapter, sooo... *maniacal laughter***


	37. Make You Forget

**I don't own this stuff at all, it's all J.K.'s, and I make no money here.**

**AN: More cooking high jinks! The best and easiest way to humor and awkward romance. That and kittens, which later chapters may include. I'm still deciding.**

* * *

Ginny bounced little Dominique on her hip some more and cooed down at her before looking up at Harry again.

"Absolutely not," she said.

"Gin, I need you there for it to work."

"You do not. You're brilliant, Harry. The youngest Head Auror in the history of the ministry. You figure something else out, because I am not setting foot back in that flat as long as Zabini is still there. And I'm sure he feels the same way."

Harry glanced over his shoulder, double checked his silencing charms. He gave Dominique a once over and decided the most they needed to worry about with her was a dirty diaper. Then he focused on Ginny.

"Alright, alright. I understand. I'll figure something else out. It would just look better if-"

"Hell, Harry. Say I was out shopping or something." She cooed at Dominique again, who gurgled and stuck some of Ginny's long, sweet smelling hair in her mouth. Harry's brows drew together.

"She hates your hair."

Ginny gave him a distracted glance. "She did. She loves it now though. Merlin knows why."

Harry stepped closer, caught some flying strands in his hand. They were in the backyard at the Burrow, presumably enjoying the weather; while Fleur and Molly were inside, gabbing about baby clothes and what the best birthday cake for an almost one year old was. Ginny started to say something and Harry ignored her, instead fingering the locks and then drawing them up under his nose.

"Harry!" Ginny protested, flushing a bright pink.

"'Arrree!" Dominique repeated, giggling and relinquishing Ginny's now damp hair from her mouth.

He dropped her hair, but pinned her with a long look instead, just as Victoire came running up to them.

"You've quit," he said in a quiet voice.

Ginny shrugged, though a tiny, smug smile played about her lips. "So?"

"Ginny…"

"I did it cold turkey, too," she replied defensively. "How's that? Proud of me?"

Without warning, Harry kissed her soundly on the mouth, in front of both children. They both squealed and Victoire ran away again, this time toward the house, screaming about Uncle Harry kissing Aunt Ginny. Ginny pulled away and Dominique giggled and clapped her hands delightedly.

"Harry, what on earth-"

"That was because I love you. Come stay with me, Ginny. These next few days while I get it sorted with Zabini. And then after, during the investigation and cleanup of your flat-"

"Harry, I shouldn't. I know I'm…better. But I…"

"You don't have to answer right away," he murmured. "Just think about it- if you decide you'd like some time away from the Burrow. Is being around everyone bothering you?"

Ginny shook her head slowly. "Actually, it's not. I feel alright, honestly. Everyone is being so wonderful, and the children…"

She paused and then looked up, that small smile still in place, but much less smug. Harry's heart beat faster.

"I'd like some, one day, I think. I really would. If it's possible."

Harry's mouth went dry and he kept his hands to himself. After all, she did still have a baby in her arms.

"I think it's more than possible," he murmured.

"You do want them too?" Her voice was hesitant, uncertain. The promise inherent in the question made him smile gently at her.

"I do, Ginny."

"Well then," she finished softly, looking away again. He watched her coo at Dominique a little longer and then placed a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

"Think about what I said- if you do want a break from this. I'd love to have you over, you know I would. And as for Zabini…I'll take care of it. Don't worry about a thing."

"Thank you, Harry," Ginny replied. She gave him a brilliant smile. "See you again soon?"

"Yeah." He lifted a hand and walked off, waving to Molly and Fleur as well, who were spying on them from the kitchen window. Then he apparated away.

Of course, in doing so he missed seeing the two women rush from the back door to confront Ginny; and demand details of the infamous kiss of which Victoire had so kindly informed them. But he was already quite familiar with the pink flush that spread along her cheeks at their interrogation.

* * *

Two days later, Harry had put the new, Ginny-less plan in motion and it was nearly complete. He'd staged Zabini's death to look like a suicide and cleared the body with one of the many younger workers at the ministry who were on his secret team of…philanthropists, if you will. Some Draught of Living Death here, some blood and hair samples there, some casually lifted wards…and since he was the one in charge of the wards and standards changed often, no one was any wiser. Suicide while Ginny was away on vacation, was the ruling in his report and no one in the ministry questioned the results, or even seemed to care very much. He did get a half-hearted call from Blaise's stepfather- if one could even call the man that- but after the usual pleasantries and line of answers, the man accepted the story. By all accounts in the papers, Blaise's mother was going to die soon, anyway. Even Molly, usually so generous hearted, merely shook her head and said it was best he made it stick; and none of the other Weasleys cared at all, though he'd been in their sister's care.

So none of it mattered very much.

Now he was standing on the platform at Waterloo International, Zabini in full disguise next to him, as they waited on the train. Blaise kept shifting nervously and Harry finally had to cast a quiet calming charm to get him to stand still. He scanned the small crowd around them and turned back to Blaise.

"That should help."

"Did you fucking cast another spell-"

"It's for your own good. Look, there's nothing to be nervous about, Zabini. No one you know is here- trust me, even the muggleborns rarely use this train."

"What the hell is a chunnel, anyway?"

"I already explained all this, Zabini."

"Explain it again. Maybe my terror at being suddenly crushed to death by a trillion tons of water will distract me."

Harry sighed. "Look, when you get to Paris, someone will meet you- another young wizard. From there, you'll spend a night and then catch another train out to the Russian border. You'll go through a few different countries to get there and you'll have to stop and change trains more than once _and_ you'll take an overnight here and there, by yourself. But you have all the letters of introduction, the maps and directions, train tickets, the list of names and friendly faces to ask for help, plenty of emergency money. All that will help if you get lost. And you know to call me directly if you run into any trouble. Once you've passed the final inspections, you'll be directed through to Moscow and finally on to your destination village."

"Fucking Russia."

"You said you were taking this chance, Zabini. Stop giving me attitude. You only make yourself look more pathetic the more insults you spew."

"Your confidence in me is thrilling, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes and then pointed down the tracks. "It's coming now." Zabini's eyes went slightly wild, but his feet remained glued to the ground, his hands still. The charm was working for him physically, at least. Harry actually felt compelled to give his shoulder a good pat.

"It'll take you two weeks to get to the village, even with all the high speed travel. But my muggle contact out there will meet you at the station and take you the rest of the way via car- or bus, whatever he's driving these days."

"You don't even know?"

"He's a goat farmer with a growing family, Zabini," Harry replied. "He might need the extra storage. Now here's the train. Come on, I'll take your bags in for you."

Harry'd worked up some magical tickets that would allow him on the platform, even if he wasn't traveling, and he used them for occasions such as this: seeing off escaping wizards. Grown men who were terrified of the big, wide, magic-less world. He helped Zabini find his seat, stored his bag for him, and then clapped him on the shoulder one last time.

"I'd better get off now. I expect to hear from you and your contacts soon. Safe travels, Zabini."

Blaise merely gripped the arms of his seat and stared straight ahead of himself. A light sweat broke out on his brow and Harry departed, suddenly feeling less than hopeful. He jogged along the outside of the train and waved a hand to the other man. Through the tinted window, he could just make out Blaise, turning and pressing one hand to the reinforced plexi-glass before the train started moving. Harry slowly lowered his own hand and watched as the train gathered speed and left the station.

It was too late for doubts, now. Zabini was on his way, for better, or worse. But even though Harry wished he could have brought him to justice, he knew the man deserved this second chance. The past was over with, his best friends were finally recovering and ready to put it behind them…and he could be, too. He could welcome whatever the future held.

Good riddance, Zabini, he thought. I won't miss you, but I hope you accept your new life. Otherwise you're going to be one miserable bastard. And with only a somewhat lightened heart, Harry turned and walked from the station.

* * *

"Right, and now I stir it counter-clockwise?"

Hermione gave Draco an exasperated, albeit amused, look and put her hands on her hips so she wouldn't be tempted to pull the bowl full of cake batter from his hands. It was the end of another week, four days after Zabini's getaway, and she was enjoying the peace and companionship their shared decision had brought them all. Now she was trying to give Draco more basic cooking and baking lessons…mostly unsuccessfully. Honestly, Lucius' casserole several nights ago had been topnotch compared to Draco's attempts.

"Draco, this isn't potions class, you won't explode the batter if you accidentally count the turns wrong. It's just plain, old white cake-"

"It may be that to you, but to me it's new and exciting and I'm terrified it will come out burnt."

"It only burns if you leave it in the oven too long, Draco. Whether it burns or not has nothing to do with how many stirs you give the batter."

"But it does have something to do with what you put in the batter," he confirmed, pulling the spoon out and eyeing the glop that dripped from the end of it. "Are you sure we can't just buy-"

"One of those pre-made ones you saw in the bakery the other day? Absolutely not. Now behave yourself. It's your father's birthday and I won't have you mucking it up," she said, finally pushing him out of the way and taking over the stirring. (She'd also had Draco, at least, back into town with her a few times- an experience he was much more excited over now that he knew he'd be joining such a community soon, himself.)

"You're only being nice because we're leaving in another three weeks," he accused as he relinquished the bowl, but not the spoon, which he promptly began licking. Hermione started to protest his remark, noticed his tongue making streaks in the batter upon the spoon, and turned bright pink. She grabbed blindly for a new spoon, hit him with it a few times, then brushed it off on her apron and started stirring again.

"Ok, ok!" he laughed, protesting her abuse and scooted away from her, the original spoon still firmly in his grasp. When he ran low on batter he reached over her shoulder and tried to procure more from the bowl. She hit him again, this time her spoon clearly batter laden. His jaw dropped and some of the flying batter landed in his mouth. He licked his lips and then grinned predatorily.

Hermione backed up, bowl still in the curve of one arm, other hand wielding her own spoon. It occurred to her the abuse may have been a bad idea, no matter how satisfying it was at the time.

"Now, now," she murmured. "This cake is for your father."

If she thought reason would work, she was dead wrong.

"You have plenty of the ingredients still," he replied, stalking her slowly about the island, then the table. "You can always make another."

"Draco…"

He made his move and before she could react, he'd dipped one long index finger into the batter and deposited his prize down the middle of her face. She went cross-eyed to see the batter dripping off the end of her nose and her eyes narrowed as she refocused on him.

"You are going to regret that," she replied, her voice cool. Then she dipped her spoon into the bowl and launched more batter directly at him, flinging it across the kitchen. She caught him square in the chest and he yelped and turned to run, as she continued to barrage him with batter missiles. He reached for the bowl of icing she'd helped him mix up only minutes before they'd started on the cake, and started scooping out globs of the stuff and flinging it right back at her.

She shrieked as some landed right in her hair and she flung a particularly large spoonful at him in retaliation. Some of it landed on his shoulder as he dodged. The rest splattered across Lucius, who'd just opened the door.

The older man raised one eyebrow and took a deep breath as he surveyed Hermione and Draco, who'd both frozen at his appearance. Lucius wiped his hand along his face and then sniffed delicately at the mixture there. He glanced back up at them.

"White cake?"

Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from bursting into laughter. Draco had a harder time keeping a straight face.

"Yes," she finally said when it looked like Draco wouldn't be coming up for air anytime soon. Merlin, he was crying, he was laughing so hard. She felt herself starting to snicker as well and bit her lip. Lucius gave his son a pointed look, then turned to Hermione.

"I prefer yellow," he replied, then smirked.

It was like a devil took over. She really didn't know what was wrong with her.

"Oh?" she murmured. "I'm terribly sorry. I'd better start over, in that case. But then, what on earth shall I do with the rest of this batter?"

"Make cupcakes?" Lucius replied politely, not looking at her as he inspected his shirt and the batter there. Which of course meant he didn't see her moving closer.

"That's a good idea," she admitted. "But so is this."

And she flung more batter at him, quite deliberately. He looked up in time to see it coming, but not in time to move, and it caught him in the side of the face and neck. His jaw dropped as his son's had earlier and Hermione giggled maniacally as she looked from father to son, both now covered in batter. Draco was now pointing at his father and laughing even harder and Lucius looked utterly gobsmacked.

Until the gleam she'd seen in Draco's eyes transferred to his father and the older blonde turned to her, smiling coldly.

It was a completely evil, dastardly smile. She shivered and took refuge behind the island.

"Now, now," she murmured and Lucius continued to approach her. She flung more batter at him and he ducked. It hit Draco, who yelped again.

"Dad!" he said, still laughing.

"A mere casualty," Lucius replied, waving a hand as he huddled behind the table for shelter. Hermione peeked over the top of the island.

"Where are you?"

"He's behind the table," Draco called and a second later another missile of flying batter was lobbed in that direction. Lucius barely dodged it.

"Traitor!" he hissed at Draco, who grinned, shrugged, and scurried around the corner of the island.

Hermione looked over, prepared to let fly with more batter. Draco waved his hands.

"I surrender!"

She relaxed some. "Where's the icing?"

A chocolate blob flew over the top of the island and landed at their feet.

"That explains that," she muttered and Draco snorted. "Be serious!" she whispered, then grinned. She tried desperately to straighten her face out again and failed. "This is _war_."

He took in the batter smeared along her own face, the icing in her hair and on her clothing, and felt himself blush. He smirked to cover it up and mock saluted her.

"Aye-ay, Captain," he replied and this time took his old spoon and flung some batter over the edge of the island. They heard a loud swear from across the room and Hermione giggled again.

"Ready to surrender?" Draco called.

"Never!" Lucius roared and Draco turned back to her, shrugged, rolled his eyes.

"What's our strategy?" he whispered and Hermione leaned forward, which he really thought was a terrible idea. He wondered if she knew there was some batter hanging to her upper lip.

He wanted to do very dirty, naughty things to that batter. And her lips.

"I don't have one," she whispered back, then snorted and broke into more laughter. She peered around the edge of the island and glanced back at him. "I figured I'd throw batter until I was out, or he cried for mercy."

"A brilliant plan," Draco agreed a little too loudly and Lucius swore again, though they heard laughter in his own voice.

"Turncoat!" he yelled.

"You taught me well, Dad!" Draco replied and Hermione gasped and snorted again.

"Oh, god, stop, it's killing me-"

"Let me help," he said and took another spoonful of batter. "How about we both fire on him at the same time?"

"Oh, oh, let me get ready-" she wiped the tears from her eyes and turned about, scooping out batter as well. "Ready? One, two…"

"Four!" Draco yelled.

"Three!" Hermione said, laughing so hard she couldn't see. They flung the batter anyhow and heard simultaneous plops followed by a cry for mercy.

"Bloody- ungrateful children!" Lucius swore again. "I surrender!" he called.

"Hurrah, victory!" Hermione yelled, waving her spoon about. She turned to Draco and gave him a bone crushing hug he returned enthusiastically. "We won the battle!" she declared in his ear and as she pulled away, bouncing up and down from their position on the floor, holding his hands in hers. He cheered with her.

"How shall we celebrate?" she asked, still laughing and gasping for breath when she finally pulled one hand free from his to wipe some batter from her face. She only succeeded in smearing more along her brow and deposited some chocolate icing along her cheek as well.

Draco laughed and reached a hand up, wiping her cheek for her. He also deposited more icing and batter; and that one teensy, tiny blob of it was still clinging enticingly to her lip; though it had migrated to the corner of her mouth with all the laughter.

His eyes narrowed, his heart sped up…and before he could stop himself, he was cupping her face, running his fingers along her cheeks, up into her hair. And then he dragged her forward and licked the batter from the corner of her mouth. He kissed the spot gently and captured her lips again, properly.

Hermione didn't move, didn't say a word. Perhaps her eyes widened some as she realized what he meant to do. Perhaps her breath came shallow as she saw the way his eyes turned that wild color. But she didn't protest, or try to stop him. The only evidence that she was unsure of what she wanted was the way her hands came up midway through the kiss to grab at his shirt front and pull him closer before pushing at him; but even they stopped in their movement after a few blissful seconds.

He came up for air, hands still cradling her face, her eyes full of anything but confusion. There was desire there to match his own, he knew, and he would have captured her lips to his again in the next heartbeat if they hadn't both heard his father in the same instant.

"Where are you upstarts? And what are you doing? Plotting your next attack? I said I surrender-"

And then his legs were in their line of sight.

Draco scrambled back from Hermione at the same time she moved away from him and they looked up. Lucius glanced down at them and eyed them suspiciously. There was a long pause and then Lucius leaned over and swept the bowl of batter out of their midst.

"Ah-ha!" he crowed. "Who surrenders now?"

And he proceeded to dump batter all over both of them. Hermione sat there, drenched in the gooey stuff, hair matted down, mouth open. She looked as shocked and appalled as Draco did. Then she bent over at the waist and began laughing again.

"You bastard!" she yelled and launched herself at Lucius' legs. He wasn't quite fast enough and she managed to coat batter all down one leg before he struggled free from her grasp. "Draco!" she commanded and, spurred by the order, he collected himself and then crept around the other side of the island to corner his father between them.

"Now, we wouldn't want to make more of a mess," Lucius attempted to reason.

"Oh, of course not," Draco murmured and Hermione nodded pertly.

"That would be quite beyond us. Honestly, at our ages…" She watched Lucius grow hopeful and then swiftly reached behind her for the extendable spray faucet, threw the tap on, and began blasting the two men.

"Mercy!" Draco cried. "I'm on your side, remember!"

"Oh, no, you don't," Lucius shouted and pinned Draco's arms at his sides, holding him in the spray as Hermione continued to rinse them off, chortling gleefully the entire time.

She knew the kitchen would be a bitch to clean later; and they wouldn't get the cake done until tomorrow, they'd be so tired from scrubbing; but somehow, in that glorious instant, it all seemed worth it. Even that spontaneous, wonderful kiss. These moments…they were all precious gifts, no matter what the underlying causes. Whether it was hidden aggression or pent-up emotion behind it, it was all beautifully, simply worth it and Hermione refused to look another gift horse in the mouth. Never again.

Carpe diem.

She giggled again and turned the spray up higher, delighted beyond belief to hear the shouts of surprise and loud protestations that signaled how alive and in the moment they all were.

* * *

**AN: Awwww. :) **


	38. And I Breathe In

**I don't own Harry Potter, it's all J.K.'s, and I'm making not getting paid in anything but your devoted love.**

**AN: Ta-da! *chortles gleefully and dances away***

* * *

Lucius' birthday didn't go quite as she'd planned, but even as he was polishing off the rest of a lopsided piece of yellow cake, Lucius assured Hermione he was content.

"I haven't had someone throw me a birthday party, let alone one I was aware for, in years, Hermione. This will do nicely. _Has_ done nicely. Thank you."

"Not to mention you didn't have to throw him one," Draco pointed out as he covered the cake.

Lucius looked disgruntled, but amused. "Yes, thank you, Draco, I was about to mention that myself."

"No need to thank me, Dad, just being helpful," Draco replied snarkily, but he patted the older man on the shoulder as he walked past him and even leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Happy birthday, Dad. I promise we'll have loads of parties once we're on our own."

"That sounds incredibly dull," Lucius replied, but he was smiling.

Hermione leaned on the table and propped her chin on her hand. "I think it sounds lovely. I wish I could be there for them," she said impulsively and Draco paused on his way out the door, but didn't turn around. Lucius gave her a questioning glance and set down his fork.

"Do you really? Are you that starved for company, that having two interlopers like ourselves is better than nothing?"

Hermione shrugged, slightly startled by the question, and wiped at some invisible crumbs on the table.

"It's not that, exactly. I have everything I need out here, after all. Although things will be more lonely with you gone. I canceled all my classes for the entire summer since I thought you two would be here longer."

Lucius gave her a steady look. "You teach your friend Miss Weasley. You've tried to teach Draco. Why don't you run a stable for the magical community in the off months?"

Hermione gave a light shiver. "And have all that magic around me, day in and day out? Risk the horses that way? No, thank you. I'm ready for plenty of things- changes- but that is not one of them. Not yet."

"So, it's the being lonely? Or the keeping busy?"

"For what?" Hermione asked.

"For why you wish you could attend our future birthday parties."

"Not just birthdays," she said suddenly, wistfully. "Christmas, Halloween, Valenti-" She stopped short and flushed, ran a hand over the back of her neck. The other hand picked at more invisible crumbs. "It isn't just the keeping busy I'll miss. I admit, Lucius, I never thought I'd say this, but I rather think I'm a bit fond of the both of you."

"Perhaps you've grown accustomed to our faces?" Lucius offered and Hermione glowered at him.

"That was quite unnecessary." Her gaze turned suspicious. "How'd you know about that anyhow?"

Lucius smirked. "Not many people knew, but Narcissa loved musicals. She insisted I take her to a show at least once a year. There was a particular theater she liked to attend in the city…and she would insist that we stop at a little shop before every show to purchase sweets for the intermission. I still have no idea where she picked up the habit, but it was most endearing." His face turned sad. "I teased her about hosting a secret love of quaint muggle culture."

Hermione smiled gently. "I apologize for asking…"

"No, it's better to talk about her. It keeps the memories I have of her enjoying life fresh, as opposed to- well, that's all."

"What was the shop?" Hermione asked, trying to bring him back to the moment. It was his birthday, after all. He should have happy memories.

He quirked a brow at her. "A chemist shop. Boots."

Hermione's smile broadened. "Narcissa Malfoy, buying sweets at a Boots? Imagine that. A woman after my own heart."

"She was, rather," he responded softly. "She was. I see her, in you." He leaned forward and reached out, took the hand still picking at nonexistent crumbs. "You're a strong witch, Hermione. That hasn't changed, underneath. And you're good for-"

The door behind them opened. "Am I interrupting?" Draco asked and Lucius smiled at Hermione, tilted his head in defeat. He squeezed her hand lightly and then released it.

"Not at all, Draco," he said. "I was just sharing memories."

"Yeah?" Draco sat down with them. "About what?"

"Your mother," Lucius admitted. "She had a soft spot for a muggle chemist shop."

Draco's brow cleared and he grinned. "Boots?"

"That's the one."

"So that's why…" Draco leaned back and looked at his father. "I never knew that."

"There are many things you never knew, Draco."

"Well, why don't you tell me, then?"

Hermione pushed back from the table and gathered the extra plates and forks. "Would you like me to leave?"

"No, Hermione," Lucius said, lifting a hand. "Please, stay. Perhaps you'd like to hear as well."

Hermione glanced back at him and then bustled at the sink some. There was an invitation in Lucius' eyes, but it was strictly friendly. Paternal. As opposed to the invitation in Draco's eyes, which was anything but platonic. And which was, right about now, also a little hostile, considering that it had been a day since they'd kissed- quite deliberately- for the second time and neither had said anything to the other.

Honestly, Hermione kind of expected Draco to be the one to bring it up. She didn't want to force any sort of discussion on him, after all, not with her technically being the one in charge of them. Then again, little did she know that Draco expected her to say something, since she was the one who'd had men remove her choices; and he wasn't about to force her to talk about anything she didn't want to. Under normal circumstances he would never let the lady make the first move, call the shots that way. If he wanted to know how she felt, he would tell her how _he_ felt and then ask her what she wanted. But there were three problems.

One, he still didn't know exactly how he felt. Two, he was leaving in three weeks, anyway, never to have contact with her again. Three, these were definitely not normal circumstances.

A fork clattered from Hermione's hand into the sink and the noise startled them both from their thoughts. Hermione finished the dishes quickly and turned back to the table. She smiled at Lucius and avoided looking at Draco.

"I'd like to hear them," she finally replied.

Lucius smiled in return and gestured to her abandoned seat. "Then please, come back. Now, this is going to take some thinking on my part…"

"Oh, I know, Dad- start with those awful pearls she wore every year at Easter."

"Your great great grandmother's pearls?"

"They were hideous! I never knew why she wore them."

"They were costume," Lucius responded, smirking. "And your great great grandfather gave them to his wife before they were even married. Your mother received them from her mother, and so on, and they were quite awful, weren't they, all scuffed and scratched…"

His voice drifted on the stillness of the night air, punctuated by bursts of laughter from all three of them. Outside, the crickets began to chirp and another peaceful evening drew to a close.

* * *

Much later that evening, Draco was creeping down the stairs and back towards the kitchen when he saw a light streaming from under the door. He pushed it open slowly and peeked around the edge to find Hermione standing up, leaning against the island, a cup of tea in her hands. She gave him a startled look and straightened up, prepared to leave; but relaxed again a second later after glancing about- as if she'd been looking for a means of escape and, upon finding none, decided it was easier to stay.

He nodded to her and walked over to the kettle. He gave it a shake to check for water and then poured his own tea. Leaning back against the counter, he took a few sips and finally glanced up at her again. She wasn't watching him, but her cheeks were slightly flushed.

"Why are you up?" he asked and she darted her eyes to his, shrugged.

"Just thinking."

"Ah," he murmured and sipped his tea some more.

After several seconds she sighed.

"And why are you up?"

"Same."

"Ah," she replied and that time her voice was definitely snarky. He gave her a small grin.

"Lots of memories to consider tonight," he elucidated and she nodded.

"I understand."

"I know you do," he responded. He felt slightly emboldened…or hopeful. She was making conversation, at least, and she wasn't faking the sympathy upon her face.

"Hermione, we should talk."

"Yesterday," she clarified and looked up. He raised his brows, tilted his head.

Drank more bloody tea.

Hermione broke the renewed silence first, after a short debate with herself. He was right, after all, they did need to talk. No matter what the outcome. If it was another argument, if it was to acknowledge whatever crazy attraction was going on…they needed to have it out. She cleared her throat and glanced at him again. He was studying her and she flushed and looked away. One of her hands went to her face automatically and she ran her fingers along her scars. When he looked at her that way…she almost felt herself again. Almost…_pretty_.

It was highly unsettling.

"Draco, I don't know what's the matter with me," she began, letting her hand drop. "I shouldn't have encouraged that, yesterday. Any of it. I know I thanked you for the first…kiss," she forced herself to say, "but that didn't mean I thought we should do it again." She sighed. "We really can't afford to indulge in that sort of irresponsible behavior right now, not with everything else that's going on. Not with your escape coming up. We need to stay focused on getting you out of here safely."

He paled. It wasn't that he hadn't been expecting her to say something like that; it was more that he'd hoped…he stared at the floor angrily and felt like a fool. Hadn't he been telling himself all along that it was better this way? For them to be friendly and nothing more, for their last weeks together to be free of pesky arguments and unwanted feelings?

His mouth betrayed him anyway.

"So being attracted to one another is irresponsible," he said. She gave him a weary look.

"You know it is."

"No, I don't," he replied, feeling belligerent. "The only thing I know right now is that I like kissing you. I have no idea what the hell it means- and trust me, I've been asking myself for days. Am I simply deprived after years on the run and in prison, and you're just the first witch in a long time who's let me kiss her, so I can't help but find you attractive-" he paused for a breath and plowed on before she could respond, "or does it mean I like you, Merlin help me. Or _maybe_ it means all the kindnesses and humanity that other wizards take for granted make you seem like the most fucking beautiful witch I've ever seen and so I can't keep my hands off you."

"Draco…" Hermione was shaking her head and her voice was soft. "Don't."

"Why not? Perhaps you can make more sense of it than I can," he said and his voice held a pleading note. "But don't try for one second to tell me that it's all in my head. My mind's been unbearable to live with for the last week and I can't, I _won't_, stand here and have you tell me that I'm wrong. That you're not beautiful, that I'm clinging to you just because you're taking care of me, treating me humanely. That it's fucking transference, or whatever the hell you therapists call it."

"But that's-"

"Don't," he said, his voice suddenly harsh. "It's my turn to tell you that. Don't you dare say it. Whatever I'm feeling for you is real enough at the moment and they're my feelings, which are about all I have left to call my own in this world. So don't try and take them away from me. You're not that cruel, Hermione," he finished softly. He set his cup down and leaned against the counter for a minute, staring out the window. A light on the outside of the barn lit it up in the distance and he gazed towards it, every line on his face tired, his eyes sad.

That was where Hermione's heart lay, anymore. She had eyes only for her horses and the past, no matter how well she was, now. She always will and nothing I say or do can change that, he thought bitterly.

She was silent, as if absorbing everything he'd said, and he spoke again after a few minutes.

"You know one of your barn cats is expecting?"

She glanced up at him. "That would be Dolores. She's a complete slag." She smiled after a minute. "But yeah, I knew."

"Dolores?" Draco murmured and turned back to her. "As in…"

Hermione smirked and set her own cup down, too. She crossed her arms.

"That's right."

Draco felt the corners of his mouth tilting upward and rolled his eyes. "Very nice."

"I thought so." They were quiet for a few more seconds and then Hermione spoke again. "Draco, I may not like everything you had to say, but I'll accept it. You're right, I shouldn't try and tell you how you're feeling. If they're real to you, that's all that matters."

He felt his shoulders relax some. "Thank you."

She looked up at him and found his eyes on her. She longed to touch her face again, but kept her arms firmly crossed. She really had no idea whether it was transference, or not. That would certainly make her life easier, after all. And she had kissed his father, too…but that genuinely had been a mistake, no matter how handsome she secretly thought Lucius was. Draco was pretty damned handsome, too, in his own way. All lean frame and shaggy blond hair that kept falling in his eyes…

Without realizing she'd moved towards him, lifted a hand to brush said hair away. Draco made a small noise and she came to herself, hand outstretched, and her eyes darted about, as if looking for the mind she'd so clearly lost seconds before.

Draco grabbed her hand, arresting her retreat, and she looked back at him.

"Draco-"

"You feel it, too," he murmured.

Hermione shook her head and stared hard at the countertop, avoiding his eyes.

"It's not that," she whispered. "I know myself. This is just…I'm only reacting to your being here at all. I did the same thing with Harry, the few times he wanted it, too," she ended miserably.

Draco abruptly dropped her hand and she finished backing away and leaned on the opposite counter again.

"Potter? You're seriously comparing me to Potter."

"I know what's going on here, Draco," she tried again. "I told you. You're a…good looking man and you're available and I'm so lonely some nights it aches."

Draco stared at her, a look of stark understanding on his face.

"But you are attracted to me."

"I don't know what I am, outside of desperate to be held," she shot back. "The same as you."

"I already told you, Hermione, you can't dictate what I feel."

"We could be anyone right now. Any two people in a similar situation, and we'd react the same way," she whispered, clinging to some semblance of control. Because she couldn't actually be attracted to him for his own sake, could she? It was too wrong. He was in her care, she needed to think of his safety, his well-being. She needed to…think…her eyes darted up to him and she realized he was moving towards her and then he was gripping her shoulders, looking down at her.

He'd clearly arrived at some sort of decision, because his face was hard, his jaw set. She felt herself begin to tremble.

"I'm not Potter, Hermione," he hissed. "But if it makes you feel better to tell yourself those things, that's fucking alright with me. If you honestly believe we could be anyone right now…" He paused, struggled for the words. "Then fine. Let me be anyone. For tonight, for these last few weeks. Damn it all, Hermione," he said, giving her a small shake. "If you'd rather have anybody but me, ok. I can be whomever the hell you like."

Heaven help her, when he followed his words by kissing her for the third time, she didn't struggle. Didn't try to pull away, didn't fight him. Instead, she molded her lips to his and hooked her fingers into his t-shirt, pulling him closer. And when his arms moved across her back, pressing her to his chest, their hips meeting, she merely gave a contented moan; and slid one hand up and around the back of his neck, drawing him further down to her.

All the things they'd said to one another moments before were true. Transference, attraction, loneliness. She knew each item shared a part of the blame, but god help her, she didn't care. She didn't want to care. So this was irresponsible and stupid. So there were a million reasons they should stop. It wasn't love, neither of them were pretending it was anything other than need in that instant, and that was suddenly alright with her. Besides, there would be no chance for regret. He was leaving in three weeks.

Three weeks wasn't such a long time. And by the time it was up, he'd probably be tired of this game, anyway. And so would she.

She moaned into his mouth again and dragged her lips from his suddenly.

"Draco- you have to promise me something," she gasped and his arms tightened.

"What?" he asked raggedly.

"Promise me you won't pretend this is anything other than…"

"Casual kissing?" he supplied and his voice was simultaneously amused and hurt. She met his eyes and he pressed his forehead to hers.

She licked her lips and then corrected him.

"Casual sex," she said breathlessly.

His eyes widened briefly and then he squeezed them shut before suddenly releasing her. Dear god, this wasn't what he wanted, was it? He stumbled back and put one hand on the counter for support, covering his eyes with the other.

Hermione watched him carefully, breath still shallow. She wasn't sure if she was pleased or hurt. So, he wasn't up for it, after all. He really couldn't quantify what he was feeling, and he wasn't willing to take any stupid chances. That was fine with her…wasn't it? She didn't need him anymore than he apparently needed her…

Her heart ached just a little. It had been a long time, after all, since she'd put herself out there that way. Since she'd even felt ready to share herself with a man. And here he'd come along, he and his father, and they'd awoken something in her and now she was prepared to take Draco, at least, up on the offer and he couldn't even make up his bloody mind.

She flushed and felt her trembling increase.

"Never mind," she said, and her voice sounded loud in the silence of the kitchen. "I…it was foolish. Completely stupid. I was only…" Her breath came faster and she headed for the door. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm going to bed. Let's just pretend this never happened, shall we?"

She turned her head to find Draco watching her again, a look of desperation on his face.

"Hermione-"

"Forget it," she said hastily. "Do turn out the lights here when you're finished. Goodnight, Draco." Then she shoved out of the kitchen, leaving him staring after her.

She stopped halfway across the darkened living room and collapsed into an armchair, burying her burning face in her hands. She pressed her fingers across her eyes, trying to staunch the sudden tears. What in hell had she just allowed to happen? To almost happen? How stupid could she have been, to even think of suggesting…she felt sick just thinking about it. She covered her mouth and forced herself to take deep breaths.

* * *

The door to the living room opened slowly after a few minutes and Draco looked out.

"Hermione?" he called softly and quiet, shaky breathing met his ears. He flipped off the kitchen light, casting them further into darkness, and then made his way out to her slowly, following the sounds.

"Hermione, I'm sorry."

"I really, really, fucking _hate _that goddamned word," she managed to hiss.

"I don't care anymore what you hate," he replied and crept over to kneel in front of her. "And I am sorry. I was…I wasn't thinking, either."

"Clearly," she muttered around several loud sniffs. He could just make out her wiping her cheeks. He reached up and took her face in his hands again.

"Let me make it up to you," he whispered.

"You can't. Except by putting me out of my humiliating misery." She tried to pull free, but he held her head still between his slender fingers. "I'm so fucking ashamed," she breathed and closed her eyes, so she wouldn't have to see the glint of his eyes shining up at her.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss over one eye. "I'm _sorry_," he said again, this time kissing the other eye. His voice was breathless and he continued to land feather light kisses over her face, punctuated by fervent apologies. She shook.

"Please, forgive me," he finally breathed and then covered her trembling lips with his.

Hermione tried not to respond, tried to hold herself still against the gentleness of his actions, but she found it impossible. Draco Malfoy was on his knees, lacing her with the sweetest kisses she'd ever received in the last eight years; and he was pleading with her for forgiveness.

She was in no state to deny him. Not even her moral fiber could hold up under such an assault. She leaned into the kiss and when he broke it off a second later, she was the one pressing her forehead to his.

"We shouldn't do this," she murmured. He drew his fingers along her scars so tenderly it pained her heart to feel it.

"You're probably right," he admitted.

She swallowed hard. "Are we…are we going to anyway?"

The room was lit only by cloud covered moonlight, but she could feel the tension, knew his face was solemn.

Merlin take it, he wanted it badly enough that he would accept whatever she was offering him. Casual sex, illicit kisses, feelings he'd have to forget had ever existed in another three weeks…he'd risk his heart for those things, if they were all she could give him. He searched out her eyes in the shadows, gave her a smile she couldn't see.

"I promise not to make anything more of it."

"It's terribly illegal," she reminded him- reminded them both, really. He took her face in his hands again.

"I don't care."

"And bad for us both."

"Hermione, let me at least pretend to make love to you," he muttered and his grip tightened. Her eyes went wide, then shut tightly; and he took the response as her consent and reached up, covering her lips with his yet again.

This time, neither pulled away.

* * *

**AN: This is the part where things will get hot as all fuck. I hope you're ready for it. Normally, I'd let myself do the "…" thing and have some nicely placed innuendo about moonlight and shut doors and they'd just wake in each other's arms the next morning, but I'm rather looking forward to writing this lemon. ;)**


	39. Take It Away

**I don't own Harry Potter and heartily apologize to J.K. for making her beloved characters do such dirty things. Especially when I'm not even being paid for it, geez. **

**AN: If I spent half as much time on my original fiction as I do on this stuff, I could be making loads of money by now. Be grateful, wenches. Also, if this scene is different from Define One Off's smut, there's good reason for that. This Dramione is coming from a completely different place, for one. For two, use your brains. It's still pretty hot, I think (or stupid). But you're entitled. Oh, and WARNING: LEMON.**

**To eau-bleu: Cha, that's why I'm a Slytherin. And my rl friends don't believe me. Pff.**

* * *

Hermione had no illusions about what she and Draco were doing- taking comfort in one another's arms, lips, tongues. For all his sweet words and sweeter actions, she couldn't pretend to be in love with him, couldn't imagine they were anything but temporary lovers for necessity's sake. And even then the necessity was only born from the inevitably of whatever crazy attraction they shared at the moment. Necessary because if they didn't come together now, in a deliberate manner, then sparks would fly at some later date or time, in what was sure to be a compromising, embarrassing manner.

Now, under cover of darkness, they could keep things quiet and their union never had to see the light of day…which was how she was choosing to justify the entire encounter.

Not that his lips along her jaw, throat and collar bone needed much justification.

He'd pulled them both to their feet and they were standing in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around one another; his mouth upon her skin as he bent his head lower and lower; her mouth filling with sighs of appreciation and a minimal amount of terror.

It had been years since she and Harry had indulged one another, after all. And the thought of paying any attention to her sexual needs on her own was laughable, considering she didn't even like looking at herself in the mirror. But Draco…he was just right.

Or maybe that wasn't the right term for the way she felt like she was being devoured. But either way, she'd made her decision minutes ago, which meant the rest would be easy. Or should have been easy.

Draco nipped lightly at the skin of her neck and she gasped and put her hands on his head, drew him up to meet her gaze. They paused for a moment, breathing hard, and he rested his forehead against hers, then leaned forward and gave her another kiss; before lowering his head and burying his face against her neck.

He inhaled deeply and shivered. She moved her hands down to his back again and slid her fingers beneath his shirt, feeling her heart race within her chest. She could feel his pulse, too, and knew it was as erratic as hers.

"Draco," she murmured and he mumbled a response. "What?" she breathed and he lifted his head again, letting her tug his shirt over his head. His arms went back around her immediately.

"You smell so fucking good I can't stand it," he whispered and she flushed. "It's the most bloody…intoxicating…" He lowered his head again and nestled his nose against her skin, breathing deep. His tongue darted out and he gave her neck a long lick. Startled, she moaned and he laughed softly before bringing his head up and kissing her again. After another languid tangle of tongues, he straightened up and simply held her for several seconds, as if he needed time to regain control of himself. She found the thought slightly thrilling. She also found her head tucked under his chin, her nose buried against his chest. With his shirt out of the way, she could smell the Davidoff all over him and it was her turn to be overwhelmed by his scent.

"I never should have bought that for you," she murmured against him and felt him shake his head.

"I'll never wear anything else," he replied.

"Like you'll be able to afford it with your muggle salary- wherever you end up working," she replied, grinning slightly.

"I'll save up for it," he said, pulling away and looking down at her. "I'll watch every cent. Only second hand things from now on, just so I can think of you."

Her face changed and he felt it, though they were mostly in shadow. "Draco…don't say-"

He laid a finger against her lips. "I'll say whatever I damn well please tonight, Hermione. And every night you have me, until I'm gone. Let me make it real enough to remember after this is all over. I deserve that much," he finished, his voice full of some emotion that she'd really rather not know about.

"You do," she murmured around his finger and then kissed it tenderly. He slid it away and replaced it with his lips, meeting her kiss and melting away the deception of their words.

His hands pushed their way up into her hair and tilted her head further back, leaving her neck exposed again and his lips traveled down once more. She made a throaty sound and wove her fingers into his hair, holding his head there, his mouth against her skin.

"We should go," she said and he lifted his head again.

"Where?"

She hesitated and he smiled down at her.

"Invite me in, Hermione," he whispered. "I promise not to bite. I'll make this good for us both."

She shook her head slightly and drew her arms from around him, capturing one of his hands in hers. A spill of moonlight, released by a cloud's movement, suddenly illuminated her face. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips parted. Hair a tangled mess. He wanted to kiss her for the rest of his life, if she would only look like that for him, and him alone.

Those swollen lips curved slightly, parted further.

"You didn't say please," she said. He started to frown and she put a hand over his mouth. "But come in to bed with me anyway."

He started to bend down, preparing to swing her into his arms, but she shook her head and stood on tiptoe to put her mouth by his ear.

"I'd rather you didn't go that far," she breathed against his skin and somehow, between their mutual assaults on one another and whispered commands and protestations, they made it across the front hall and into her bedroom. She shut the door behind them and leaned against it for a minute, gathering her thoughts, her confidence. Was she really ready to do this? Did she want it badly enough, that it outweighed the cons?

Draco spun her about and pressed her against the closed door with his body, taking her face in his hands again and layering kisses on her reddened lips, her flushed cheeks. There was a fire building between them and they hadn't even made it onto the bed and the only clothing removed so far was his shirt. Hermione wasn't sure whether to be excited or terrified, but she definitely knew she wasn't up for any more sweetness. She wanted control of this, wanted to feel passion and sparks, because that's all it was.

Draco slid his tongue against hers, drawing moans from them both. His skin was hot against her, despite the clothes she was wearing.

"Hermione," he murmured in her ear, "let go. You're thinking too much."

"I know," she replied breathlessly. "Just- give me a second, please."

He pulled his lips from hers and straightened some, pulled his arms away. He put his hands up, flat against the door, so that he wouldn't be tempted to hold her, caress her skin. But he leaned close to her, keeping her locked between his body and the door, making it hard for her to think- which was technically his goal, she realized with a small laugh. Closing her eyes, she brought her hands up to run them over his chest. Only a few scars overlapped his shoulders, came around his sides, but for the most part the skin was smooth and warm. Hard from the muscle underneath, but sensitive to her tocuh. His breath came ragged and he lowered his head, caught her lips again.

She tasted the salt on his lips from running his mouth across her skin, smelled the remains of his aftershave. It filled her senses and she closed her eyes again, broke away suddenly. Her hands held him off her while she caught her breath. Then she reached her hands down, fingers fiddling with the hem of her jumper. He went very, very still and she opened her eyes and glanced up to find him watching her. He was close enough that even in the darkness she could see the way his eyes had gone wide. Very slowly, she drew the jumper up, inch after inch, and finally pulled it over her head. His eyes didn't leave her face and after she was done, he rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard. Now only a thin camisole separated her chest from his.

"You don't have to do this, Hermione," he said unexpectedly, closing his eyes. "We can stop."

There was a long pause as she watched his face and he waited for her reply. Then she reached up and caught his chin. Slowly, she slid her fingers along his jaw and watched as he opened his eyes again and stared down at her.

"No," she replied, her voice steady. "We can't."

All the breath left him and he found he was the one trembling now. She smiled at him gently, almost as if she'd expected this, and then pushed him back slowly until he felt the bed behind him. Without anymore preamble, she tugged on the waistline of her shorts and eased them down over her hips. The camisole followed the shorts. And the eensy, weensy pair of lacy knickers followed the camisole.

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to breathe again.

"Draco," she whispered.

He knew he must have responded, he just wasn't sure how.

"Your pants, Draco," she said and he felt himself flush to the roots of his hair. Thank Merlin for cover of darkness.

The offending clothing was pooled around his ankles in another second and she was kicking them away with one slim leg, her other clothes sliding across the floor after them. He put his hands out, ready to take her about the waist, to pull her onto the bed, but she put one hand on his chest again and pushed him back, forcing him to sit.

He didn't fight her. He could tell something had changed, that she needed him to follow her lead. He stayed where he was, unwilling to move until she'd said something, directed him somehow. His eyes roamed over her shadowy figure and he longed to touch her, taste her, but he kept his hands still by digging them into the covers.

Hermione could feel him looking at her as she hesitated and she suddenly knew the room was far too bright. It needed to be darker. She needed it pitch black, so that way when she started to cry later, afterwards- as she always did- he would never have to know, would never have to see her face contorted with longing and sorrow. Because no matter how badly her body longed to be touched, how badly she wanted this now, she knew the tears would come. They _always_ did.

As if in answer to her prayer, the room went darker, the shades drawing down across all the windows and the moonlight disappeared. Draco took a sharp breath as he felt her hands touch his shoulders in the newly darkened room. It was as if someone had clicked a deluminator, leaving just them in a black box, where the only thing they could hear was their own breathing, the only thing in front of them what their fingers touched. He put his hands up as well and was rewarded with a sigh as he ran them across her stomach and then further up, cupping her breasts.

"Draco," she breathed and leaned into his hands. He pulled her closer, between his legs, and began landing open mouth kisses along her breasts. His tongue found her nipples and he drew first one, then the other into his mouth, laving his tongue across them. She moaned and he felt himself grow harder, knowing his own arousal had to be obvious by now. He could feel the tops of her thighs pressing against him and then it didn't matter much because she was pushing him back, forcing him to lie down while she straddled him.

He made a guttural noise and started to leverage himself back up on his elbows, but felt one hand press him back down against the bed. His breath came shorter.

"Hermione?" he murmured and she responded by tracing the line of his neck with her tongue, then running it up around his ear. He brought his hands up and gripped her waist hard for a second as he tried not to come right then.

"Who's not letting go now?" she whispered and he groaned. He played a hand up one thigh as she squeezed his hips with her legs and traced his fingers along her skin, all the way up to her center. With her mouth still at his ear and her hands busy in his hair and running along his chest; she barely noticed his own motion until he ran his index finger down her folds. She shivered and stilled. He grew more daring, dipping the finger into her, sliding it deep. She moaned and rocked against him, then pressed her lips to his again, opening her mouth, mimicking his actions with her tongue. Her kiss distracted him long enough for her to reach back and wrap one small hand around his length and run it up and down him once.

He gave a soft cry into her mouth and without another word, he felt her hand leave as she settled back over him, felt her take him into her slick warmth. He cried out again, louder, and couldn't help but thrust into her. She pressed against him with her chest, trying to hold him still, and buried her face in his neck. She was shaking.

"Hermione…" he breathed, and began murmuring her name, over and over. She finally moved again, lifting her head and covering his lips with hers. If they were wet with tears, he didn't notice, he was so lost in the sensation of being inside her; of having her heat cradling him, her hands in his hair, her legs pulled up against his waist. It was overwhelming and he had to force himself to remember she was there too, that he'd promised to make it good for her.

Oh, god. He suddenly wasn't sure he could do this, but it was really, truly, too late for doubts.

With an effort he stilled their wild motion long enough to slip a hand between their bodies and find her center again; that nub he could stroke until she came apart in his arms. He found it, pressed his thumb against it gently.

She moaned against his skin and responded by arching her back. She gasped his name and he could feel her trembling.

"Draco," she breathed again. "That's really not- you don't have to-"

"I want to," he whispered. "Please, Hermione-"

"No, that's not what I….Draco," she groaned.

But he never knew what she meant, because in the next second she did come apart; and Draco followed her swiftly, clasping her to him with shaky arms as they both found release.

Hermione didn't see stars, or bright lights- well, maybe lights- but she certainly didn't feel her heart doing any sort of- oh, hell. Yes, it was. It was beating far too fast and she had to blink several times into the dark to clear her vision and she could still feel Draco buried deep inside her, her walls pulsing about him in the final throes of ecstasy. And his lips along her cheeks were soft and full; and his tongue kept doing lewd things to her neck; and while things had, at a certain point, grown slightly awkward and a little calculated, she felt incredibly good.

Like…really, really good. Better than she'd felt with Harry. She sighed and collapsed against him, allowing him to squeeze her to him again.

His arms were still shaking slightly, but that was alright. He'd just come in- with, really- Hermione Granger. That was bound to do something to a bloke. Never mind the fact that he'd just cemented his love slave status.

But this was hardly the time to joke.

He smirked into her hair and then drew his hands down, gripped her shoulders. He was still inside her heat and it made him feel dirty and quite pleased all at once. He kissed her lips, then her jaw, then her neck. Ran his tongue along her skin again, where he'd nipped her earlier. So what if she had scars in places that made him pale, or ran a horse farm, or had given up magic? So what if he was at her mercy and about to become a wizarding cast-off?

He didn't care.

In those seconds, during the afterglow, it ceased to matter, and he realized he wanted her again. And again, and again, for as long he could. His heart sped up and he held her up, looked into her face, which he still couldn't really see, of course.

"Hi," she murmured, then lowered her head again, resting it against his chest.

"Hey," he breathed. His lips formed the words, but he didn't say them. He fancied she could probably tell what he meant to ask, anyway. But following up their first mutual, flesh-on-flesh, sex-derived orgasms in years with the question, so, what does this mean, seemed like poor taste. So, he settled for holding her to him again.

After a few minutes, she finally took a deep breath and lifted one aching leg off him, rolling to one side of him. He felt as naked as he knew he actually was without her on top of him.

"I should…" She paused, then mumbled, "Bathroom." With an effort, she sat up and scooted off the other side of the bed, stumbling into the room in question. He heard the door shut. A minute or so later, the toilet flushed and there was the sound of running water.

It was all very pedestrian. The door opened again, but the bed didn't indent and he didn't hear footsteps. He leveraged himself up on one arm and turned to look behind him. The light in the bathroom was on, allowing him to see a quite naked Hermione standing in the doorway, looking out at him. He blinked in the light and resisted the urge to rub his face and ask her if she was coming to bed. She looked serious.

His heart slowed.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked softly and she shook her head. "Are you…"

She shook her head again and walked over to the bed, to him. She sat down and picked at the spread some.

"Hermione, what is it?"

She shrugged helplessly, but refused to look at him. How could she tell him that in the seconds she'd had under the bright lights of the bathroom that all the good feelings had gone and the regret had crept into their places, as it always did? Regret for the things she'd lost, regret for Ron. For the children she could never have. For a whole host of things that weren't his fault.

The tears she'd been desperate to hide from him started to spill over and his heart nearly stopped.

"Hermione-"

"Don't," she begged and started to reach for him before drawing in on herself and hugging her legs to her chest. She rested her head against her knees and rocked back and forth. "Maybe you _should_ go," she whispered. "I didn't want-"

"Me to see this? After all the crying we've done the last month?" He gave a short laugh. "You're an idiot sometimes, Hermione," he murmured and laid a hand on her head.

She shook her head, hid her face. "I'm sorry."

"You hate that word."

She snorted and he slid over until he was seated next to her. Then he put his arms around her and drew her into the curve of his body.

"Well, at least you aren't the first woman I've made cry after sex," he quipped and felt her shoulders shake. He smiled sadly and leaned over, pressing a kiss to her head, then burying his face in her hair.

"I'm sorry, too," he murmured.

"No," she said suddenly, lifting her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. That was- it was exactly what I wanted," she ended firmly and looked up at him.

"Hermione, you don't have to say-"

She reached up and grabbed his chin again. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she whispered fiercely. "Nothing."

Then she leaned up and kissed him, pulling his head down to hers, wrapping her arms about his neck again.

"In fact," she gasped when she finally came up for air, "I want you to do more things you don't have to be sorry for."

"I'm not sure that made sense," he responded, running his hands down her arms and over her back.

"Do you need a diagram? Or perhaps a demonstration?"

He gazed at her and ran a thumb over one cheek, wiping the remains of her tears away. She wasn't crying any longer, but there was still a deep sadness in her eyes that pulled at him. He wanted to wipe it all away; and the knowledge that he never could and, after three more weeks, never would, spurred him to action. Anything to alleviate the ache he saw mirrored in her face. He tried for a cheeky smile and fell short between sympathetic and hopeful. Then he pulled her closer, turning her face towards him.

"That might be in order," he replied softly, and covered her lips with his, determined that this time he wouldn't just make it good for her.

He would make it better.

* * *

**AN: That was really long. Sorry. ;)**


	40. Sprung From Cages

**I don't own HP still and make no money here and it's all J.K.'s by rights.**

**AN: I have an audition tonight, so this is your regularly scheduled update. :D Also, I do try to get to everyone's reviews sooner or later. Hope I haven't missed too many of you. XOXO**

* * *

Draco woke to the sweetness of a morning breeze across his cheek; the sound of running water filtering out of the bathroom; and gentle spots of sunlight dancing across the room as the curtains fluttered across the windows. Hermione wasn't lying next to him. It had to be early still, but she was up and in the bathroom, the door pulled to. He could feel the leftover heat from her body in the sheets next to him, felt the indent in the bed. His heart sped up.

Last night had really, truly happened. And after the first time, he'd held her in his arms a second time and they'd gone even longer, drowning in one another's lips, teeth, tongues. Hips moving hurriedly, frantic with emotion, then slow and languid seconds after. On and on, circling round one another until they'd stolen each other's breath straight away.

He took a deep breath now, closed his eyes again as he smelled her all over the room, all around him. He rolled over and buried his nose in her pillow, where her head had rested minutes before. Orange…juniper…and him. His scent, all over her bedclothes. He groaned. Merlin, if he wasn't ready to take her again from that thought alone.

The bathroom door opened and he rolled back quickly, eyes still closed. A second later he heard her voice.

"Draco? Are you awake?"

He kept very still, focused on breathing. She'd probably gotten up before him to avoid an awkward morning after scene, anyway. He heard her turn away, mumble something to herself. Then a soft hum filled the air and she continued to move about the room, pull on her jeans, a jumper, socks. He dared open one eye and saw her standing at her dresser, facing the mirror as she tugged her jumper straight and then put her mass of hair up in a ponytail.

He opened both eyes, sat up.

Her face…

"Hermione?" he murmured, voice raspy. She jumped and her eyes darted to his reflection. She'd been facing the mirror, but not really looking at herself, which was probably why she hadn't noticed anything.

"Draco," she said. "I thought you were asleep." He shook his head, rubbed at his eyes.

"Just woke up. Hermione…"

"Hmm?" She turned back to the dresser and continued to pull her hair back. Her eyes focused on her reflection. Her hands slowed as they finished putting her hair up, then dropped to her sides. She leaned forward.

"You noticed," he said and swung his legs from the bed, reaching for his pajamas. He put his legs through the bottoms and then stood, pulling them up.

Hermione didn't respond to him, just leaned forward and put a hand to her face. She ran her fingers over the scars.

"They've…they're…"

"Some of them faded," he finished for her and walked over to stand behind her. Her eyes left her reflection and darted over his, taking in his bare chest. She flushed prettily and eyed herself again.

"That's not normal," he said and she shook her head.

"It happened once…before…" Her voice trailed off again and there was a pregnant pause as a look of hatred covered her face; and she suddenly drew her hand back, clenching it tightly, and prepared to swing it forward into the mirror.

Draco caught her fist and she struggled against him, all trace of the calm, bright-eyed Hermione gone and replaced with a wild creature.

"No!" she yelled and kicked at him, trying to yank her wrist free. "Let go! Let me go-"

"Hermione, that's not the answer. Hermione-!"

He pinned her legs to the dresser front with his own and held her arms tightly to her sides. He gave her a slight shake and she shook her head, mouth still working in anger.

"God damn it all, Draco, let me- go! Let me…"

Without warning, she sagged against him and he slid his arms around her back, held her close. She wasn't crying, but she was breathing hard and despite her clothes he could feel her heart beating rapidly.

"Let me go," she whispered again. "I won't do anything."

"I can't know that," he replied evenly.

"Damn it, Draco-"

"Let her go, Draco."

Draco turned his head to find Lucius standing in the bedroom doorway, all dressed for the morning's chores, watching their silent power struggle with a cool expression on his face.

"Dad-"

"I'll go out to the barn with her."

"Dad, I don't think-"

Hermione was trembling in his arms from the shame of the encounter and the anger of what her own magic was doing to her, and she pressed her forehead to Draco's chest. She was feeling slightly more calm, and she cut him off.

"It's fine. Let me go."

He felt her press her lips to his chest, a gesture his father couldn't see, and he dropped his arms.

"Alright," he said. She didn't look up at him, just brushed past him and marched over to the door, where Lucius stepped out of her way. A second later he heard her stomping down the hallway. Lucius remained in the doorway, eying him for just a minute longer; and Draco felt his cheeks flush red before he set his jaw and returned his father's steely gaze.

He would not apologize for anything, anymore. He'd made his reparations. Lucius seemed to read something there, in his son's eyes, and a muscle in his own jaw twitched. Then he turned and was gone, following after Hermione.

Draco looked away, back at the mirror. He tried to look at himself critically, as he knew his father had done. But there was nothing there of interest, not to himself. The only thing in the room that interested him was Hermione's scent, still lingering on the air, and the way his skin burned where she'd pressed her lips to it, minutes before.

* * *

Hermione quickly drew on her boots and was out into the yard, hurrying towards the barn in no time. She was still angry, but not dangerously so, as she had been a minute ago; and she knew being around her horses would make her feel better. Perhaps she could even take Echo out again this morning…if her aching thighs could stand it.

The thought brought a flush of a different sort to her cheeks and she slowed down some, long enough to hear Lucius catching up to her. His long legs overtook hers in seconds and she glared up at him.

"I can take care of myself."

"As you were about to earlier, I assume?"

"Breaking things helps sometimes," she replied.

"I imagine it does. Talking can also help."

"There's nothing to talk about." She tried to put on an extra burst of speed, but he kept up with her easily. She wondered why until she noticed he wasn't using his cane. Hell. That was just great. Now she'd have two perfectly fit Malfoys bothering her all the fucking time. Bloody _perfect_.

"Isn't there?" he murmured. "I can think of several things we might discuss."

"Oh, such as?" she retorted, stopping out right and turning to face him. He stopped and gazed down at her, a pleasant expression on his face.

"My dear Hermione, if I have to spell it out for you, perhaps you're more mental than I first suspected."

She tried not to smile, she really did. But a second later she grinning, and biting her lip, and then swallowing an accidental snort. He let her have her moment and then began walking again. She followed him quickly.

"Alright, so which one of these items would you rather I talked about?" she asked as the reached the barn. "Would you like me to discuss Draco's sexual-"

He shuddered and cut her off. "That is one set of words I never want to hear from you in the same sentence again, Hermione."

She looked smug and preceded him into the barn. Served him right for even goading her in the first place. "Then what caught your fancy?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm referring to, Hermione. I don't particularly care what you decide to do with my son, as long as you don't tear one another to pieces. But your scars-"

"Are better this morning," she finished for him. She shrugged and reached for the halters and leads, then handed a few to him before setting off down the aisle. "You heard what I told Draco?"

"I admit, I didn't open the door until I heard you yelling. I was worried…" His voice trailed off and Hermione glanced back at him.

"Draco didn't hurt me, or force himself on me, if that's what you were afraid of. Things are…mutual."

"I suspected they were," he replied dryly. "But again, I have no desire to discuss that. It's your business."

"Thanks for that," she muttered and looped a halter over the filly they'd intruded on, weeks before. "As for the scars…yes, it happened before. Once. So I cut myself up again. Harry found me that time, but I'd already patched myself up, so it was obvious I wasn't actually trying to kill myself a second…" She paused and tightened the lead, then looped the line around a post. She moved on to the next stall down and did the same for that mare.

Lucius was quiet for a few minutes as he struggled with a colt and his companion. Hermione had to poke her head out of a stall to hear him when he started speaking again.

"So, your magic occasionally presents in this manner?"

"It tries," Hermione replied cheerily. "But I always beat it back."

"Except today, because Draco was with you."

"He won't be with me in another two and a half weeks," she responded and her voice was so ominously pleasant that Lucius paused and searched her out in the dim interior. His eyes caught hers over the top of a pony's back and he frowned.

"I sincerely hope you aren't serious."

She blinked at him, then turned back to the pony. Lucius wrapped the lead of the colt he was with around a hitch on the wall and marched across the aisle to Hermione. Without any warning, he grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a good shake.

"Don't you dare endanger yourself that way, ever again, or even joke about such things," he said softly. "You may find some amusement in such dark humor, but I can assure you, it would pain Draco dearly to hear you saying-"

She set her jaw and returned his gaze. "It's my life. And I'm not going to check out anytime soon. But if I prefer my scars- if I like them- that's my business and not yours, or your son's, no matter how many times I let him into my bed."

Lucius went very pale and looked as though he'd like very much to hit her, or kiss her, himself. Something- anything- to wipe that smug anger off her face.

My god, he thought. How many times did I look just like that? Was I really so obnoxious in my superiority?

He let her go and stepped back from her awkwardly. Hermione glanced away and her cheeks burned once again. She frowned, then looked back at him.

"I didn't mean that, Lucius," she said quietly. "I stopped…I stopped doing anything like that years ago. I promised Harry."

"You promised Potter and not Miss Weasley?" His voice sounded wry, if apologetic.

She gave a soft laugh. "Yeah. Ginny never made me promise her anything, except that I wouldn't leave her. Which I did, by moving out here. But she understood it all. Harry was the one who couldn't handle it." She sighed. "Anyway, when he found me the second time he made me promise…it seemed the least I could do. And I've held it up."

She turned back to the pony, finished fitting the halter. "So, that's it. It really was just dark humor, and I apologize. I know you must have been thinking of…anyhow, that's all it was. I promise."

"I apologize as well, Hermione," he replied and she glanced up at him again. His eyes were dark, serious and trained wholly on her. She shivered, looked away.

"Never mind. Ready to take the first round of these beauties out?" she asked him and he tilted his head in answer and walked back over to the two he'd prepared. She felt her shoulders relax and then led their little parade out the barn doors to the paddocks, where they deposited the first group of grazers, before making their way back to the barn to halter the others.

* * *

Time passed slowly and quickly for Hermione and Draco- slow in the gentle motions of everyday life, quick in the intake of breath and rapid heartbeats. Languid kisses at night, lazy afternoons at tea and the infernal encyclopedia. Fast gallops across the hills, hurried chases through the barn to find the new kittens. Then more slow cuddling once they'd been discovered. And over it all the bittersweet passage of the hours.

Lucius felt he might hardly exist, his own presence went so unnoticed…except when he caught himself staring at Hermione and she looked back at him- both, perhaps, wishing he'd been as brave as his son. Wishing he weren't so old, despite how strong he grew day after day. But it was mere fancy. Draco was the deserving one, in his youth. The one giving it all up to indulge a lonely witch during his last weeks as a wizard.

More days were gone before the quiet routine was broken by a visit from Ginny. Hermione had been inspecting her face again- the pesky scars had continued to fade, albeit more slowly after that first infuriating discovery; and she was just running a finger over one of the remaining red lines when she heard the knocking at the front door.

"Coming," she called and met Draco in the hall as he was unlatching the door.

"Thank you," she murmured to him and took the door handle from him to finish pulling it open. Their fingers brushed and she looked up at him. His eyes slid over her face intimately and then he was walking back into the living room, to his desk.

Ginny watched the entire exchange with pursed lips and both brows raised. She looked over at Draco, who was hunched over his books again, and then back at Hermione, who was also watching Draco.

"Hi," she said.

Hermione took a deep breath and her eyes darted over to Ginny. A second later she smiled.

"Ginny, come in."

"Thanks…I think."

Hermione glanced at Draco again and finally, with some effort, focused on her friend. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Tea? Or are you here for a lesson? I didn't hear from you for a few days…"

"I know- I was at the Burrow most of the time. No phone," she explained with a shrug. Hermione nodded as she led her down the hall to the kitchen's other entrance, avoiding the living room.

"Of course. And how is everyone?"

"Wonderful," Ginny replied. "It's rather sickening. But Harry's been marvelous- visited nearly every day. And the children…" She paused as she saw Hermione's shoulders stiffen. "Hermione, I didn't-"

"It's ok, Ginny. I want to hear about them," she said firmly and filled the kettle. She turned around and eyed her friend.

Ginny took in Hermione's now relaxed stance, the flush in her cheeks, the gloss of her hair. The much improved appearance of the left half of her face.

"I don't care which one you're sleeping with," Ginny began, "but it's working for you. Keep it up."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Ginny!"

"Well, so what? What did you expect me to say? Nothing, when you're looking better than you have in years? And you haven't tried to put them back, I see."

Hermione's hand crept to her face again. "I…it didn't seem worth it, this time."

Ginny smiled broadly and burst into tears.

"Oh, Ginny…"

"No, no," the red haired witch murmured, waving a hand as Hermione walked over to her and gave her a large hug. "It's alright. I'm just so…pleased, you know? It's incredible, how everything is finally…"

"Leaving," Hermione supplied. "It is, isn't it? Like we've escaped from the cage a second time."

Ginny nodded. "That's it exactly. I've felt so bloody free the last two weeks I can hardly stand it." She pulled away and took Hermione's face in her hands, suddenly growing serious. "Oh, but Hermione- when they leave you won't- I mean…will you be alright?"

Hermione shrugged, gave her a small smile.

"Honestly? I don't know. I've been asking myself that the entire week, ever since…and I just don't know. But I don't really have much of a choice."

"You do," Ginny insisted. "You could ask him to stay- it is Draco, isn't it? I saw the way he looked at you. He'd do that, for you."

"I can't ask him to do that and I wouldn't want him to, either," Hermione replied, getting up to fetch the tea. "It's best this way. It's not like it means anything."

Ginny straightened up and stared at Hermione, confusion in her eyes. She'd seen the intimate gaze, the brush of fingers that had made them lean towards one another instinctively. In her world, that meant something. She opened her mouth, started to protest, but stopped.

If Hermione wasn't ready to admit there was more there than just sex, then nothing would convince her otherwise. She shook her head slightly as she reached up and took the tea cup from Hermione.

"Whatever you say, Hermione," she finally responded and Hermione gave her a perturbed look.

"I know what you're thinking, Ginny Weasley, and you'd better stop right now."

"Oh? What am I thinking?"

"Besides the usual dirty things about me and Malfoy Junior? You think we're secretly in lurv. You think I ought to get a new wand. You think I ought to move to a nice wizarding community. And you definitely think I should come to a Burrow Sunday dinner."

"That is not what I- Alright, fine. Yes, I was thinking all those things too, but it's not exactly new. _And_ it's no more than you'll get from Harry, especially when he sees your face."

"Harry has no right to say anything to me about my face, or my habits."

"Well I do, damn it, Hermione, and I'm saying it now. You're my bloody best friend and we've both let one another do whatever the hell we wanted these last eight years because it was easier than trying to sort through our problems. No more. You're coming to the next Sunday dinner and you're bringing those two trouble makers with you or I'll…I'll…well, I'll think of something and it won't be very nice!"

Hermione gave Ginny an oh-really look and shook her head.

"Never in a million years," she said and Ginny leveled her best like-hell-you-won't gaze at her. Hermione sighed. "I'll have to ask them. If they don't want to go, that's it."

"Then we'll bring dinner here."

"Oh, come off it-"

"Mum is so mad about me acting somewhat normal again she'd happily pack up and come out here for the afternoon."

"Ginny," Hermione groaned.

"Don't make me beg. Don't make me call in every single favor you owe me."

"Every single favor _I _owe _you_?"

Ginny waved a hand. "You know what I mean. Also, I won't tell you about me and Harry."

Hermione gaped. "Ginny Weasley! What about you and Harry?"

"Uh-uh. No, I don't think so. Not a word until you promise."

"How did we even get started on this in the first-"

"You brought it up." Ginny crossed her arms and sat back, stuck her nose in the air. Hermione sighed again.

"Ok. Fine. Sunday dinner, here. We'll make a bloody thing of it."

Ginny shrieked with glee and threw her arms about Hermione, who merely rolled her eyes and glared at the ceiling. But a second later a smile crept across her face and she wrapped her arms about Ginny as well, unable to help returning the happy embrace.

* * *

**AN: This is all I have to say, here. Maybe ten chapters left? Meh. We'll see. **

**"The walls we build around us to keep out the sadness also keep out the joy." Jim Rohn**


	41. Wearing Down

**I don't own Harry Potter, it's all J.K.'s, and I make zero dollars off this fiction. But lots of love. :)**

**AN: Wow, you guys. Just…wow. Your recent reviews and all the love… *sniffsniff* I can't help but tear up a bit. Love it. So, in return, here is another chapter. Of course, on the other hand I'm now in danger of totally running the other direction with everything and stumbling off the pedestal with every word I type, but I'll do my best to stay up there. Cause you guys deserve the *best.* XOXO**

* * *

Hermione stood in the doorway of the dining room and tried to look at it with a critical eye. Which, now that she thought of it, really wasn't that difficult. For starters, she never used it for company- mainly because the company she did have consisted of Ginny and sometimes Harry and the kitchen table was suitable for those needs. As a result, the door usually remained closed and she rarely went in to clean. So everything was covered with a fine layer of dust. Then there was the problem of furniture. She hadn't anticipated using the dining room _as _such when she'd bought the farm; it had been Ginny who'd convinced Hermione to save the space and not turn it into a downstairs office. But then Ginny had neglected to go shopping with Hermione to purchase suitable furniture, so…

She sighed and put her hands on her hips.

"This is going to be a disaster," she muttered. A day to get ready for the Sunday dinner invasion of the Weasley clan and she was just now realizing her table probably wasn't large enough; that everything was filthy; and, because it was some high-end dining set that the store clerk had selected, it all needed a good dose of furniture polish she didn't own. And _never mind_ the state of her serving things. There wasn't even a question whether she needed silver polish or not, simply because she had no silver to speak of.

She huffed a bit at her own dilemma and looked down at the bottle of dusting solution in her hand. Well, there was only one way to tackle it all- by taking on one issue at a time. To start with, dusting.

She was partway through with the fancy sideboard with rococo detailing when someone behind her gave a polite cough. She started to reach up for a second dust rag, thought better of it, as she was halfway under said sideboard, and instead waved a hand.

"Lucius? Is that you? Could you hand me that other rag, please?"

The cough sounded again and she turned about to see Draco crouching to the floor and eyeing her amusedly. But one hand was indeed outstretched, the rag being waved about as an offering. She snatched at it and gave him an ornery look before turning back to the ornate foot she'd been working on.

"Yes?" she called back, knowing full well he was still kneeling there, probably eyeing her bum.

"Dad is out at the barn again," Draco explained, unwilling to add that Lucius had told him in no uncertain terms that he'd be hanged before he was made to dust anything. "He's taken quite a liking to those kittens."

"Has he?" Hermione said. "That's nice. I'm glad. You should take one or two with you when you go."

Draco was glad he was already kneeling. She was so casual about the whole thing, so easy going with her smiles and affection, but then so cruel in the next breath. He shook his head at himself. That's how it's supposed to be, he thought. Uncomplicated. Besides, how's she supposed to know how cruel she is if she doesn't realize you're quite fucking serious? And it's not as if you can tell her any of that in the first place…

"Draco?" Hermione said again and he realized she'd been talking to him.

"Pardon?"

"I asked why you were here."

"Oh…" Her bum wiggled enticingly in his face as she shifted position. He swallowed hard. "Er, to help? Dad said you might need some. By the way, why do you tell him everything and me nothing?"

"Hmm? Oh, I suppose because he's easier to talk to," she admitted, since she was focused more on her work than the conversation.

"Thanks," Draco murmured wryly and stood up. Hermione paused and then there was more wiggling of the delicious bum as she came out from under the sideboard. There was a scarf tied around her hair and it was even back in a bun, but a few hairs straggled out of their prison and her face was bright pink from her efforts. He thought she looked delightful.

"Draco, I didn't mean to-" she began, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist, dusting solution and rag still in her hands.

"To say that? Yes, rather," he interrupted and put a hand over his heart. "Oh, how thou dost wound me, mine lady fair."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Well if you're going to be that way, you can at least help me clean," she said and shoved her solution and rag at him. He caught them to his chest and staggered back as she brushed by him to presumably fetch more of each.

She was back a second later and paused to raise both windows and prop the door open.

"It needs airing out," she explained and he nodded.

"And a larger table."

She frowned at him, but a second later her entire face fell. "I do, don't I? This is never going to work. This table seats six, comfortably-"

"Uncomfortably, you mean," he interjected, eyeing its equally rococo design. "I imagine if one of the dinner guests sneezed they might break one of those spindles that's passing for a table leg."

She covered her mouth and looked at the table, then turned her big brown eyes upon him.

"It is rather awful, isn't it?"

His face softened. He tried to salvage the situation. "Oh, well…I think we have a similar one in storage at Malfoy Manor, honestly. I've seen worse."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Don't try and make me feel better. This set belongs at 10 Downing Street, is what."

His brow wrinkled. "What's that?"

"Draco, you've been watching the muggle news the last two weeks straight…actually, you know what? It doesn't matter. Draco, get your things and go tell your father we're going for a ride."

"I thought you wanted me to clean."

"I do. But there's something else we need to take care of first."

"And that would be…"

"Just go, get your things. And later we'll turn this into scrap wood. Or I'll make a present of it to Harry and Ginny. Which really isn't a half-bad idea…" She put her hands back on her hips and shooed Draco out the door before putting in a quick call to Ginny, who in turn mentioned that Penelope Clearwater was looking for a dining set. With that settled, she grabbed her keys and purse, locked up the house; and walked out back to meet Draco and Lucius, who were both brimming with curiosity.

* * *

Ikea did not disappoint.

Draco even thought it might be worth risking his neck on the drive there and back, considering that the healing of Hermione's scars seemed to make her an exponentially worse driver. When he mentioned this to Hermione she gave him a disgruntled look and marched ahead of father and son.

Draco was enjoying provoking her even more now that he'd seen her quite naked. It added an extra element of danger to the encounters…and surrounded by the bedroom section, he knew she was probably thinking the exact same thing.

Lucius elbowed him. "Behave yourself. Just because she's allowed you into her bed doesn't mean you're allowed to embarrass her in that manner."

Draco glared at his father, but upon watching Hermione's slightly hunched shoulders as she hurried up the aisle away from them, clearly desperate to get out of the bedding, he did feel slightly guilty. Lucius elbowed him again.

"Don't just stand there and feel guilty. Go apologize. My god, have you learned nothing?"

He wasn't sure what made him more uncomfortable- the fact that he was being a prat to the woman he was in love with; or the fact that his father was willingly referencing Draco's sex life with the witch in charge of them both.

"Dad, you can hardly expect me to-"

"We're in a fucking muggle furniture store, Draco. Do you honestly think anyone here knows us? You can at least pretend to be a normal couple in a store named something as god-awful as Ikea." Then Lucius deliberately stopped several yards away from Hermione as she inspected a pair of chairs.

Draco hurried ahead of him, avoiding a third elbow to the ribs. "Er," he said when he stopped beside Hermione.

She spoke to him as if nothing had happened. Ouch, he thought. Then again, perhaps that was best.

"What do you think of this chair?" she asked. I like that table across the way, but I don't the chairs that match. I prefer these." She knelt down and inspected the bottom rungs and legs. "It seems in good order. Of course, we'll be putting it together ourselves, but…"

Draco thought he might as well not be standing there. She could have been speaking to Lucius, for all her casual attitude.

"Are you upset with me?" he asked in a low voice and she glanced up at him.

"No. I am a terrible driver, and you're perfectly right. I've been more on edge since my scars began fading. You can always stand to be less of a git," she said, standing again, "but I know how to deal with that, now."

"Do you?"

She smiled slyly and stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. His hands came up and he gripped her elbows to help her balance. His fingers tightened briefly as she murmured something, her breath warm across his ear, lips barely brushing the shell of it. But then he let go and she'd backed away as quickly as she'd approached and was inspecting the chairs again.

Draco's eyes were rather wide and his breathing slightly ragged. She hadn't really just said- oh, yes. She most definitely had said those things. She darted a glance at him and brushed some of her hair back before smiling prettily. He stuck his hands in his pockets and Hermione gave him an amused look. Bloody hell, there's nothing wrong with that fucking minx, is there, he asked himself. She can give as good as…

"So, what do you think?" she asked, interrupting his quite distracted thoughts. His eyes traveled down her arm to her fingers, which were dancing across the back of one chair. She bit her lips and he caught his breath.

"Fine," he said, wondering where his voice had gone. Oh, that's right. He shoved his hands further into his pockets. "Good choice."

"Glad you agree," she replied and then walked over to the table she'd been eying. He watched her go and a second later, felt his father beside him.

"Make up?" he asked his son curiously and Draco turned his glazed eyes to him.

"That's one way of putting it."

Lucius eyed Draco, then shrugged and wandered over to Hermione, who cast a quick glance back at Draco when the older wizard approached her. Draco could see her say something in response to Lucius' question and his father glanced at him as well, a knowing smirk on his face.

Draco paled and leaned on one of the favored chairs for support. Oh, hell. That confidence was going to have to come to an end. It wasn't fair, she and his father and their easy rapport- he was the one sleeping with her nearly every night, after all! The one kissing her, the one getting to know her more intimately than anyone else ever would at this point, like as not. Why, just last night she'd…he shook his head. No, he couldn't let himself get jealous that way. If she'd rather exchange secrets and hold long conversations with his father than with him, that had to be alright. He should be grateful she wanted him in any capacity, really. Shouldn't he? And besides, before his father had awoken they'd had their fair share of exchanges and bloody tender moments. No, Draco, he told himself, you're being unreasonable.

But it didn't ease the ache within him any to know that, when he saw Hermione put a hand on Lucius back and lean towards him in order to point something out. Or when his father looked down at her with that simultaneously affectionate and condescending smile on his face. Or when Hermione smiled back. He gripped the chair harder and longed for the stability of the farmhouse, where he didn't feel as much of an outsider.

And his traitorous heart kept beating.

* * *

When they got back to the house, Lucius helped Draco unloaded the prefab dining set from the back and roof of the Touareg and hauled everything inside. Then she put them to work dismantling the old table and moving it out of the dining room to make way for the new set. She hadn't bought all new chairs- she'd still need the old ones since there would be so many guests, but the new table would comfortably seat ten and uncomfortably a few more (thank god for extra leaves); which left the kitchen table for the children.

Of course, it was Ikea, so it wasn't the rustic, butcher block style furniture she'd envisioned for her dining room; ever since she'd realized she should redecorate- the kind that some grizzly old carpenter had built years ago for his daughter's wedding; and that had seen generations grow up; and thousands of pies made; and arts and crafts projects, and…well. It wasn't perfect, but the bright red, pressed wood would do- the style was a far cry from the rococo delicacy from before and Draco had declared it "sneeze-proof." And after all, it was just a Weasley dinner. These were the same people who happily called the Burrow home. She stifled a smile and shook her head.

No, she was clearly over thinking this whole thing; although that reassurance didn't stop her shoulders from tensing as she oversaw Draco and Lucius; or the nervous nibbling upon her fingers. It was only once the old table had been wrapped and set in a corner of the living room; the new chairs had been erected and checked for stability; and the new table stood proudly in the center of the dining room, its extra leaves already in, that she felt some of the nervous energy dissipate. Lucius gave her a pat on the shoulder as he left the room and she thanked him profusely before leaning back against the wall and surveying their work.

Draco was tossing a screw driver from one hand to the other. "Perhaps I could be a builder of some sort," he murmured and lifted one of the power tools again. He pointed it at Hermione and ran it a few times, giving her a menacing leer. She giggled and shook her head.

"I hope you have some other ideas," she said and Draco shrugged and began to pack the tools back in their box.

"I really don't know," he replied. "It's sort of up to Potter and wherever he can get us a place, you know?"

Hermione nodded and absentmindedly ran a dust rag over the chairs again. Draco finished boxing the tools up and then started stuffing all the packing materials into the trash bag Hermione had brought into the room. It occurred to him that they were finally on the verge of having a conversation, sharing thoughts, talking like normal adults. It gave him a small thrill- it was just another small victory he could cling to in the coming years, to pretend as if he'd had something with this woman- something special.

"Is there something else you'd like to do in here?" he asked and gestured at the walls. "New pictures? Vases? I could cut some flowers for you. Your camellias will need trimming back soon."

She gave him a strange glance. "Since when do you know about camellias?"

"We used them in Herbology once, didn't we?" he responded easily as he tied off the trash bag. "Perhaps I should try to be a gardener, instead. Plants are nice."

"They are," she allowed, then smiled slightly. "Here, let me have the bag- some of it can be sorted for recycle." He handed it over and looked at her expectantly. She shifted uncomfortably. "Er, you don't have to stay," she said finally. "You can go back to your work- I know you're nearly done with your reading."

He frowned and she bit her lip.

"Or, if you're bored with the encyclopedia, I could pick out some of the muggle classics for you. Oh, but I'm sure you don't want to read Dickens…" Her voice trailed off and Draco continued to stare at her.

"What?"

"So you really do find him easier to talk to."

"Oh, Draco, not this again-"

"Yes, this again. We talked before he woke up. I helped you win a bloody food fight. We're at it in your own damn bed most nights. But the minute I try to have a normal conversation with you now, you send me off to study muggles, or watch the news, or some damned horse needs brushing-"

"Those damned horses always need brushing-"

"My point exactly!" he exclaimed. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the open dining room door and began to edge towards it.

"Draco, I can't believe you're…_jealous_ of Lucius. You are the one I'm taking to bed, after all, and it's not as if he isn't just as capable of-"

Draco went very still and Hermione knew she'd said absolutely the wrong thing. Again. Then he was moving and around her in a flash, blocking the door, closing it, turning the lock. He whirled about to face her and she backed the other way, holding the trash bag between them like it was a shield. Why, oh _why_ couldn't Ikea pack its furniture in cement blocks?

"Then why don't you go fuck my father, then?" he murmured, his voice low and quite dangerous sounding.

It almost gave her a thrill to hear the words and she felt her face go red.

"Maybe I should," she replied defiantly. "At least he doesn't act like a jealous, immature twelve year old- hey!"

Draco had snatched the bag from her hands and flung it over the table. It rolled to the floor with a soft thunk from the cardboard inside it. Hermione started to put out her hands, realized he would only take them hostage, and instead backed up against the sideboard. Draco paused in his approach and gave her a slow smile.

"I'm the twelve year old? Really?"

"Yes," she shot back, but immediately glanced about for a means of escape. There wasn't any. She was absolutely trapped.

"Hermione," he purred, leaning in close to her, putting his hands on the sideboard behind her, trapping her between his arms. "Hermione," he said again in that low voice, and she shivered as he continued, "you're the one who pointed out how highly illegal all these naughty things we've been doing with one another are. You're the one who protested us doing anything at all, because you didn't want me to get the wrong idea. And now you're the one avoiding me-" and here he pressed closer to her, "and refusing to talk about tings like two mature adults-" and there he bent his head down, putting his lips close to her ear, as she'd down with him, earlier. "And refusing to do anything, really, except let me fuck you, and I really do think, Hermione," he went on, ignoring her protests, "that you're the one trying not to get the wrong idea."

He paused and bent his head, looked her in the eyes. She was staring stalwartly at the edge of the table. He moved some and blocked her view with his shoulder. Her lids flickered some, but she still didn't respond, her lips pressed firmly together.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her temple, then kissed his way back to her ear. She was trembling again.

"Hermione," he whispered and she jumped slightly, then brought her hands up and swatted at him.

"Don't," she growled and he leaned back, but kept her trapped there.

"Don't what?"

"Don't try to sweet talk me," she replied and finally turned her eyes to his face. They looked like they were full of tears and he felt that guilty twinge again, but still refused to move. She went on when he didn't respond. "Don't try to kiss away my hurt feelings, or your nasty words, or my awful scars. You can't, alright? You never will. No matter how often you say something that may or may not be true. Your feelings are yours, Draco, and mine are…mine, damn it. I haven't tried to tell you to stop feeling whatever the hell you think it is you are, for god's sake, so why should you take it upon yourself to pry all my emotions out of me with a fucking crowbar?" She swore again and looked away. The tears had receded and she was plain old mad now.

His brows drew together. "Did it ever occur to you that you are telling me how to think and feel, by denying me the right to tell you-"

"Don't! I don't want to hear this, Draco- so, what? We screw around for a week and suddenly you have the right to bring this up again- after promising me not to make anything more of it? Promising, Draco. You _promised_!" Her voice broke on the last word and she let out a few sobs before stifling her tears with her hands.

Stricken, Draco moved back from her. He lifted his hands, wrapped his fingers about hers and drew her hands away from her face, held them to his chest.

"Hermione…I didn't mean to make you cry. It's just…this thing I feel, it's not something I'm willing to do halfway. We don't ever have to talk about the fact that I…if you don't want to. That's what I promised. That I wouldn't burden you with something you clearly don't want. Not the reality of saying it, out loud. But if…" He paused and Hermione blinked up at him, tears still hanging off her lashes.

She felt like a complete bitch and opened her mouth to tell him so when he spoke again, cutting her off.

"I know we said casual sex," he continued, and his cheeks flushed pink as he suddenly avoided her gaze. "And I know agreed. But there's no such thing, Hermione. Not for me, with you. And you knew that as well, going into this. So if we keep doing this, I deserve the courtesy of being treated like a human being."

"When have I ever not-"

"Yes, in everything else," he said. "With my studies, and the horses, and help about the farm. But ever since we started sleeping together you've been so damned…cursory with me. It's not the same as before- and that's the part of you that made me love you in the first fucking place."

She closed her eyes, as if she could pretend he hadn't just said the word. Heaven help her, but if being a bitch meant she denied his feelings even in the face of a confession, she would be one, gladly.

She took a deep breath and looked at him again. "So you want to be friends with benefits, is that it?"

He frowned and she plowed ahead.

"Draco, I feel a companionship with you I don't feel with Lucius, and vice versa. That's how friendship works, generally. No one person is ever going to fit another's personality perfectly. But that doesn't mean I'd rather take him to my bed. I like you, Draco. I do. You're smart, and…bright, and good with the horses, and a right sarcastic bastard and you make me laugh, sometimes. And I'll miss you…" Her voice trailed off as she realized all that was true. She really was going to miss them. Him. Draco- she would truly miss him and his snarky remarks and icy temper and the sweetness- oh, she might miss that most of all.

And just like that, all the complications and sidelong glances and bonfires she'd been avoiding the last few weeks came to call; and slid into place in one heavy lump over her heart. Bloody hell.

For Draco, all her words wrought quite the opposite effect. His heart was suddenly struggling against all the chains he'd put upon it, trying desperately to float away, her words made him hope so well. He was sure she must be able to see it shining on his face, as he lifted her hands and kissed them before settling them back against his chest. But he couldn't scare her away. He had to walk carefully- and it wasn't as if he was staying. No matter what happened next, he and his father were going.

He had to walk very carefully, with both their hearts.

"I'll miss you too," he said lightly. "But I don't care about qualifying this with some stupid title. I just want you to talk to me again. Not because I'm the only person available, or because I'm jealous of Dad. But because you do like me. Don't people who like one another talk? And instead you've been pushing me away."

Hermione swallowed and glanced away, thought about pulling her hands free. But it almost seemed a waste of time. He'd just trap her again, somehow. Like he was right now, with his words.

"I haven't meant to push you away," she finally replied softly. "And I'm sorry I have been. I'll try to stop. We can talk again, if you want to- we _will_ talk. There. How's that?" She gave him an almost shy smile and he returned it gently.

"That would be nice."

She pressed her lips together, annoyed with herself for giving in to his demands.

"So, do you want the whole package in addition to conversation? Chats in bed, kisses over morning coffee or tea? Holding hands on the back porch-"

Draco arched a brow at her. "Trying to be funny? You know I want whatever you'll give me."

"Draco, you can't be serious. So, we play house for the next two weeks and then what? How is this supposed to help either of us? We'll just end up using one another more."

"I'm not using you, Hermione. If anyone is using someone-"

"Oh, come off it," she replied, starting to feel her ire again. "We're using each other and you know it. And what's more, you agreed to it all, as I seem to keep needing to point out."

He shook his head, looked her in the eyes. "I'm not-"

"Pretending we're some happy couple? Acting like you're anything other than a tenant I happen to be having an affair with? How is that not using me? Even if it is just to create some happy memories for yourself-"

Draco frowned, his nostrils flared. "That's what you think this is, for me? That's what you honestly think?"

She refused to answer and looked away.

"Hermione, if I am willing to use you, as you so kindly put it, to make a few happy memories, you need to understand it's only because it _is_ you I'm making them with that it's ok. That I want to make them at all. Hermione, please look at me."

Her lower lip trembled and she continued to stare at his shoulder. He grit his teeth in exasperation and kissed her hands again as he pled with her.

"Let me make these memories with you- for you, Hermione. Let me do this much before I go. You've done so much for me- given me back my father, my dignity, my strength. Let me give you this in return. In another two and a half weeks we'll be gone- you won't ever have to think of me again if you don't want to. So let me repay you, help you, love you- whatever you want to call it- before I don't have the chance. Before I'm out of your life forever."

She shook her head and he could hear, by the shakiness of her breath, her voice, that she was trying desperately not to cry.

"That's just it, Draco. I…can't."

"Yes," he insisted softly, leaning closer, tightening his grip on her hands. "You can. Hermione."

She brought her eyes back to his and he could see her clearly, through the scars, the years of hurt and aching. Underneath it all she was a scared eighteen year old, desperate to regain the life she'd known. Desperate for exactly what he was offering her.

Again, she shook her head, turned away from him as if the sight of him watching her so steadily, so determinedly, was more than she could bear.

"I can't," she breathed again. "Because you _will_ be gone. And I…can't take it. I can't."

He was so stunned by her words, her confession- not that it meant exactly what he'd wished for, hoped for, but it was so close, and it meant more than whatever else she'd offered- that his hands loosened; and she was able to wrench hers away in the midst of her tears and his shock, and make for the door.

But she stopped there, one hand on the wood, the other fingering the lock. She pressed her forehead to the door and closed her eyes, took several deep, steadying breaths. Please, god, she thought, let him ignore it. Let him be silent on my stupid, foolish feelings. I couldn't take him trying to talk to me about them right now anymore than I'm afraid I won't be able to handle them leaving.

There was a space of several heartbeats, where the only sounds in the room were their mutual breaths. Bees buzzed outside the windows. A slight breeze entered the room. Then Draco finally turned and went to her, his footsteps sounding loud in the closed space. She trembled and pressed herself closer to the door, as if she could pull stability from its still form. But she didn't turn the lock, didn't try to leave, and instead let him rest his hands on her shoulders.

More quiet breathing. Then, so very slowly, he tugged her away from the door, turned her around so she was facing him again. And he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight embrace. His scent overwhelmed her immediately and she breathed deep, closing her eyes and letting her hands come up and cling to his arms.

Neither of them spoke for what felt like a very long time; just stood there, arms around one another; letting the afternoon minutes tick by slowly as they accepted one another, exactly as they were. Confusion, faults, mental instability. None of it mattered, and Draco was glad to hold her, and she him.

It was a good memory to make. One of the best.

* * *

**AN: There is more to this chapter…I just can't write anymore at the mo. That's a lot of pathos up there, after all. And fluff. God, the fluff…save me from it! Save meeeee…!**


	42. Draws You Near

**Don't own it, don't make money, it belongs to J.K.**

**AN: I thought I'd already reassured you all- promised, in fact- that Draco and Hermione would be together in the end, but maybe I hadn't, based on the number of reviews where you're all acting VERY concerned about it. Then again, maybe that just means I'm writing so well that you're really caught up in everything and have actually forgotten my reassurances? That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Discuss.**

**Oh, and read. Discuss and read. Or read, then discuss. Whatever.**

**WARNING LEMON**

* * *

The peace was broken by a kiss, but it wasn't Draco who finally disturbed their moment of shared pain and understanding.

It was Hermione who kissed him- standing before the locked door of the dining room, his arms still wrapped around her, her hands hanging onto his shoulders. She lifted her face from his shirt front, where she'd been drowning in that wonderful smell, and kissed him. Her lips met his sweetly, at first, and then grew more demanding as her fingers plied his arms, dug into his shirt for want of something to cling to.

He gave in to the kiss easily- he could never turn her down- and let her lead him. What do you want to do, he asked her with his parted lips and quick breath. And when she answered by opening her mouth against his and leaning back against the door, he responded her happily. Pressing his body to hers, he felt her hands leave his shoulders and move to his shirt front, begin working the buttons there.

"Hermione," he breathed and she shushed him by kissing him again, directing his jaw with one hand while the other pushed beneath his open shirt, began tugging it from his shoulders. He shrugged out of it with her help, leaving just his t-shirt underneath, and in the next instant that was gone as well. He groaned as she transferred her mouth from his lips to his chest, then his neck. With an effort, he held her away and looked down at her, though his arousal pressing between them made it hard for him to think.

"What are you-"

She interrupted him by pulling off her own shirt and starting in on her pants. He tried to get the question out again as he watched her slide her jeans to the floor and kick them off.

"Making good on my…suggestion earlier," she murmured and decided to help him with his pants.

Oh. That suggestion. That lewd whisper in the aisle at the Ikea. He caught her hands, hesitant to let her go on, reluctant to make her stop. If she really wanted to fix their words just now with sex; if she wanted to avoid any sort of mature discussion that would only end in more tears…who was he to stop her? And did he even have the willpower to make her stop?

He decided that was a debate that would have to wait for another day. Especially when she was already standing before him in her under things- her green, lacy under things- and clearly wanted him out of his own jeans.

So, he let her hands go back to their work and took her face between his fingers so he could kiss her properly. She moaned into his mouth when she finally freed him of his pants and he shivered and wrapped his arms around her. In another second, they'd stumbled back from the door and he'd hoisted her up and around, onto the table behind them.

The brand new table she'd made a certain remark about to him. Earlier. In the store.

She shimmied forward to the edge of the table and he leaned her back, arching over her as she hooked her legs up around his waist. He bent his head and fastened his mouth over one hardened nipple, running his tongue over the lace of the bra, soaking the fabric.

Hermione thought it was the most erotic thing she'd ever felt. She arched her back and tried to press herself further into his mouth. He moved to the other breast and she gave a mewling sigh as his hand snaked behind her back, giving her the extra leverage she craved. She ran her hands over his shoulders, constantly pushing him away and pulling him near, and she finally decided she couldn't take any more.

She brought both hands to his head and tugged him back up to her, crushed him against her as she sought out his mouth again.

"Draco," she mumbled against his lips, "now, please."

He slid a hand along her arms as they latched about his neck, then traced it down her waist, her stomach. Gently, he slid his fingers below the band of her knickers and pressed down against her center. She moaned again and kissed him harder, tried to lift her hips to meet his. He held himself off, despite her legs crossing themselves more tightly around him.

He smiled into their kiss and then slid two fingers against her again, and into her. She was beyond ready and he took his fingers away, swiped them across her clit a few times. Her eyes flew open and she stared straight into his.

"Will you bloody get on with it?" she growled, squeezing her thighs about him, and he was certain he'd have to get through the next few minutes without any oxygen.

He barely managed to gasp her name as he shoved her knickers out of the way before she was forcing him down to her with her legs, and angling her hips just right so that he slid home into her warmth. He didn't still for long- he was getting better at that, not treating her like a china doll. But this…it was rougher, quicker than anything they'd done before. Far more passionate, too. In fact, it felt _real_ to him.

Like she was truly there, with him, beneath him as he thrust in and out; as she kept her arms about his shoulders, one hand gripping his hair, the other leaving tiny scratches. As she pulsed around his own pounding ecstasy from the feeling of her legs about his waist to the way that lace bra rubbed between them.

It was exciting, and it wasn't an act- some play with prearranged roles meted out in a darkened bedroom. This was Hermione, letting him- begging him to screw her into her new table because she was too scared to admit she might love him, too. It was her asking his forgiveness for giving him hope that she could move past herself and return his feelings. It was many, many things. But most of all, it marked a change between them. It marked a moment she was allowing him to dominate her, even if it was to make up for some perceived wrong; and it marked her accepting him as an equal- both in the house, and in her bed. She couldn't do anything else, after all. Not with her legs around him like that and him pinning her in place quite firmly- even if the table was shaking a bit by now.

His lips found hers again, both her hands went to his hair, tangled there. He leveraged her up further against him, went deeper. Seconds later, she was crying out into his mouth, the sounds of her orgasm gone down his throat. He followed her a minute later and collapsed over her, legs shaking despite his best efforts.

"My god," he whispered into her hair.

She tilted her head some, kissed his chin.

"Good?"

He nodded, unable to answer, and buried his face in her neck. She snuggled against him briefly before drawing her legs down, easing them straight and then letting them dangle off the table. Draco propped himself up on his forearms and gazed down at her. The afternoon sun didn't face the windows of the dining room, exactly, so it had grown somewhat dim, but it was still bright enough to see. He thought she might be glowing and told her so.

She rolled her eyes and swatted at him.

"Get off."

Draco didn't argue. He knew when playtime was over- even if that had just been so real it hurt. He slowly pushed away from her, hissing lightly as he left her warmth and softness.

He handed her clothes to her and then pulled on his own in a perfunctory manner. She blinked several times as she sat up and then rubbed her face. Her hair was a mess, her lips were red, her cheeks flushed…

"We look it," he informed her.

"I know," she replied and though her voice held a trace of regret, her eyes were smiling. "Just avoid the living room. Or wherever your father is."

"He already knows we're-"

"Yes, but he doesn't need to know we just did…that on this," she said, waving her hands at them both and then the table.

Draco gave her a long look, debating whether she looked truly ashamed or not. She didn't really look any way except thoroughly fucked, he finally decided, and that was charming enough. She was standing there, fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt, buttons on her jeans undone, that green lace peeking out at him and creamy skin behind that…he pulled his shirt off again after having just put it back on and crossed to her quickly, taking her in his arms again.

"Draco!" she gasped and pushed at him some. He ignored her protest and started kissing her again. If she wasn't going to let them talk about it, if she didn't want him to even mention emotions, then he wouldn't. Not anymore. He'd find some other way to convince her that what he was feeling was real, even if it meant letting himself be used, physically, and kissing her as though his life depended on it, time and again- as he was right now.

When she gave in a few seconds later and wrapped her arms about his neck again; he lowered them to the floor quite gently, and made proper love to her; covering the ache in his heart with the knowledge that if nothing else, he had this much. He had her, in his arms, returning his kisses with a fervor he never thought he'd see.

Under his tender ministrations and her soft sounds, the afternoon moved on.

* * *

Lucius heard a soft moan echo down the hallway and threw his book down, glaring at the entryway of the living room. With a disgruntled look upon his face, he stood up and walked to the door, gazing down the hall towards the still closed doorway of the dining room. He didn't hear any more moans, but he thought he might detect some light shuffling noises. Fighting to remove clothing, no doubt. He swallowed hard at the thought.

Bloody hell.

With a shake of his head, he turned to the front door and went outside, taking the side path around to the back. No way was he walking anywhere near the dining room now. He'd spend the rest of the early evening out at the barn, taking the horses in, perhaps. Visiting the kittens. Anything to get away from the gentle sounds of Hermione's…he swore aloud that time and continued down the path, making a mental note to volunteer to sit with the children in the kitchen. That way he wouldn't have to wonder, the next day, if Hermione had been quite naked under his own son on the spot where his dinner plate sat.

* * *

The rest of the night passed without a word between the three of them as to what may or may not have gone on in the dining room- although Hermione spent an extra hour cleaning it, face flushed bright pink every time Draco walked past and offered to help. Lucius conspicuously didn't offer to help.

They sat in front of the telly relaxing afterward a light supper, watching Are You Being Served? reruns and all three of them sipping wine. Hermione had stopped caring whether two grown men got a little tipsy around her or not, especially once she'd started sleeping with one of them. That had defeated the purpose of worrying about what might happen with a little wine in her system. And now, sated and all thoughts of feelings far away, she was almost looking forward to the dinner tomorrow. It would be nice to have company, wouldn't it?

She said as much and Lucius merely raised a brow, downed the rest of his wine, and announced he was heading to bed. Draco watched him go from the corner of his eye and then glanced at Hermione as she flipped off the television with the remote.

"You're not worried about it?"

"Should I be?" she asked drowsily, slouching back in her chair.

"I suppose not…I'd just thought that maybe, with…" He gestured between them and she flushed and drank some more wine.

"I see what you mean," she murmured and stared into her glass. She pursed her lips and her cheeks turned a darker pink. "No, not necessarily. After all, it's my business- our business," she corrected hastily. Draco made a small noise and she glanced up at him.

"There. Is this the sort of talk you wanted?"

He smiled slowly at her. "It's getting that way."

"Oh? Well, what else would you like to discuss?"

Loads of things, he wanted to say, particularly how you think you'll miss me, how you apparently can't stand for me to leave. But he kept his mouth shut a minute longer, suppressing the urge. She caught his eyes on her and felt pinned down by that steely grey.

"Draco?"

"I heard you," he said. "And right now, what I really want to discuss…is whether you're too tired out from earlier to even consider me coming in to bed with you."

She decided her wine was very interesting and minutes passed. Finally she looked up at him again.

"As long as you don't lounge around in my bed until one in the afternoon, when everyone is due to start arriving, I don't have a problem with you…joining me tonight, Draco."

Her face suddenly looked soft- young and hopeful. He felt sure this was the real her again, tiptoeing from behind the mask. He set his wine glass down leaned over slightly, turning off the lamp on the side table, casting them into semi-darkness. His eyes still glittered at her in the half light.

"Then I suggest we turn in now, if you want any sort of decent night's sleep."

He heard her breath catch and then she stood up and made her way over to him. His heart leapt into his throat as she straddled him on the chair and bent her head close to his.

"In a moment," she murmured. "Just…I want…" To know this house with you in it, ran the rest of the thought in her head. To make it mine before it's invaded by people I haven't seen in ages. Help me, her trembling arms asked as they went around his neck.

His mouth covered hers in perfect understanding and he slid his hands about her waist, pulling her closer in the dim light, their shadows mingling on the walls.

* * *

**AN: I'm just telling you right now…if you like boys, they are nothing like my Draco. NOTHING LIKE. And you're setting yourself up for disappointment, daydreaming about him. On the other hand, if you protest my summing up of the dismal man situation because you have one of the actual good ones, bravo for you. For the rest of us, it's probs not going to happen. Which is why I write Draco this way in the first place.**

**I'm just sayin'. I feel it is my duty as an older, embittered woman to point this out.**

**Also, fuck Zabini. You'll see mention of him next chapter, along with some of the Weasley dinner. Deal with it.**


	43. Every Fairy Tale

**I don't own Harry Potter or make money off this crap. J.K. owns the entire earth. I also don't own any work of Joni Mitchell's.**

**AN: If I mentioned about Hermione and kids before in dialogue with one of the Malfoys ( I didn't think I had, but I can't be expected to keep this complicated drivel straight), sorry for the repeat. But I don't think it's a repeat. Maybe. I think all that stuff was either mentioned to Ginny, or with inner monologue type exposition. But again, I COULD BE WRONG.**

**Warning, no lemon. *sad face!!!***

* * *

The Weasleys were at the end of Hermione's driveway precisely at twelve forty-five, so they could be at the house precisely by one. Hermione and her household were all up and dressed and had been for hours, thankfully; though Draco and Lucius had decided to make themselves scarce and take care of things out at the barn while they waited for people to arrive. For her part, Hermione was in the kitchen with Harry and Ginny, bustling about at the counters, preparing some side dishes. Molly was bringing food as well, and between the two of them, Hermione felt certain the dinner would at least be a culinary success. Harry had arrived early so he could alter the wards to allow the Weasley clan in, and Ginny had come with him because she wanted to help Hermione with the food.

Hermione had originally been a bit annoyed with her friends for showing up early, but it turned out to be a good thing; since Ginny was able to catch the crockery Hermione nearly dropped when she felt the Weasley clan entering her property.

Harry glanced at her sharply. "Felt it again?"

Hermione caught herself on the edge of the island and shuddered some more. Ginny gave Harry a look that said, leave her the hell alone, which he ignored, as usual.

"Hermione?" He got up and walked over to her and Ginny sniffed, rolled her eyes, and carried the dish out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

Hermione waved him away. "I'm fine. And yes, I felt it. Don't be an idiot, Harry."

"But I toned the whole thing down- that's some first rate ward casting, Hermione. You shouldn't feel anything-"

"Well I am, alright?" she replied angrily and looked at him. Her face softened as she saw his eyes traveling over her scars and she sighed. "And yes, before you ask, they're fading again."

"I wasn't going to say anything," he replied and crossed his arms.

She smiled wearily at him. "I know. But we may as well get it out of the way now, before the wolves descend."

"My family are not wolves," Ginny said breezily, walking back into the kitchen. "And they won't say anything, either."

Hermione tossed her a look that Ginny returned with asperity and then she turned back to Harry.

"So, my magic is presenting itself and you want to lecture me about how in order to take care of it I have to start practicing again, right?"

"Hermione, I am an auror. I've seen the dangers that can arise when you aren't channeling your magic. Bad things can happen. You need a wand and you need to start practicing, working some of it off. Focusing the energy."

Hermione threw her hands up and turned to the other dishes, started handing more off to Ginny, who remained quiet.

"I'm not getting a wand, Harry. I refuse to go back to Diagon Alley, I'm not rejoining anything and the ministry can go jump in the Thames if they have a problem with that."

"Hermione, I have to report this."

Hermione whirled about. "Harry! Don't you dare, you…how can you even- you wouldn't!" she finished in a fierce whisper.

Harry's face was quite serious.

"I'll hold off a little longer, Hermione, but it's my responsibility. Especially since it's not just yourself. It's the safety of the Malfoys, of your animals- you have to think of them."

Her face was pale. "You don't honestly think I would ever hurt any of them-"

"You wouldn't mean to," Harry replied. "But I've seen it happen. You have to control this, Hermione. You need an outlet for it. Figure something out in the next couple days or I will."

His eyes roamed over her face, lingered on the scars again, and she reached up, touched the remaining ones. The skin was nearly smooth again, laced with pearly white scar tissue and a few angry red marks still; but it was much better than it had been, and it was obvious, even to the people in her village, that something was happening. Of course, all the muggles simply thought she was undergoing some treatments, finally.

She wished desperately that it was as simple as that. It would have made her life right then, with Harry watching her knowingly and Ginny sneaking glances at her, that much easier.

Instead, she nodded her head, took a deep breath. She felt Ginny put her arm about her shoulders and leaned against the other woman.

"Alright," she murmured to no one in particular. "I'll think about it. Just…give me a day to absorb it, please?"

Harry nodded as well. "I'm sorry for doing this to you, Hermione."

She gave a bitter laugh. "You haven't done anything to me, Harry Potter. Besides, you're just doing your job. I appreciate your concern, really. I should have been considering all this anyway."

"I can still be sorry for it," Harry replied. "And I'm not asking you to rejoin the wizarding world. All you'd need to do is just practice some spell casting a few times a week, out in the middle of field, if that's what you preferred. You don't have to make it a part of your life."

"But it would be there," she replied. "Once I start again, it won't go away. I just…let's not talk about it anymore. I can't handle it right now. Please?"

Harry nodded sadly and gave her a brief hug before she turned away and busied herself with the food again. Ginny stood by her, shooing Harry from the room with a look. Then she hugged her friend again.

"There's a lot you can't handle right now, isn't there?" she murmured and Hermione shook her head, drew back.

"I don't want to talk about _that_, either," she murmured. "He and I…we're fine the way things are. There's nothing to say; besides which, your family is going to be here any minute and…"

Her voice trailed off as she looked over Ginny's shoulder to the doorway of the kitchen. Lucius and Draco had just come in and Draco was filling the doorway, gazing at them both, a question on his face.

Hermione met his gaze uncertainly and then turned away, hands fluttering over the food. Heart fluttering in her chest.

Ginny turned around to see him as well, watching Hermione as if she would disappear if he looked away, face full of everything he felt. She looked back to her friend, still trying to ignore him. Then she lifted another dish and held it out to Draco.

"Help me with these," she said and he looked at the dish in her hands strangely. His brow cleared a minute later and his gaze turned grateful.

"Happy to," he said and took the dish from her, walking back out to the dining room. Ginny cast one more suspicious, sad glance at Hermione and then followed him.

Hermione had about a second of peace before someone was knocking on her front door and there was the sound of children asking questions and adults chatting cordially and cautious footsteps. She looked up, stared out her kitchen window to the barn. A series of emotions ran across her face and she gripped the edge of the countertop tightly, willing her hands to stop trembling.

Then she thought of the happiest memory she had- that lazy afternoon at a barn when she'd been a small girl; and pasted a smile on her face; and pushed the kitchen door open, ready to cross through the living room and greet her guests, and old friends.

* * *

Three hours later and the Weasley clan was still there, although far more spread about the house than before. Bill, Arthur, and Draco were seated in the living room, discussing muggle politics while Lucius helped Fleur and Molly with the dishes and children in the kitchen. George and Angelina had accosted Harry and Ginny, respectively, and were grilling each about their swiftly mending relationship. Charlie had asked Hermione's permission to check out her horses. And Hermione, herself…she was taking a break. She'd managed to sneak away onto the back porch, on the pretense of shaking out the tablecloth, although they hadn't used a tablecloth. But no one had seemed to notice.

So now she was sitting on the bench Lucius had inhabited so stolidly just a few short weeks ago. So much had happened since they'd first arrived…excitement, danger, truths, kisses, magic, romance. Well. Maybe not that last bit. And now…she had a party of dinner guests the size of which her humble farmhouse hadn't seen in half a century, most likely.

It was all a bit overwhelming, though not necessarily in a bad way.

The back door creaked open and Victoire ran out onto the porch, then over to Hermione. Hermione gave the little girl a somewhat stiff smile. The children were the hardest part to deal with. All those brilliant babies, looking so much like their parents…and Ginny and Harry exchanging secret smiles all the while, letting her know what they intended. It was terribly unfair. Hermione was happy that her friend would have that chance, but it still made her own heart ache. She should have been part of that family, after all. She and Ron should have…and instead they couldn't, that opportunity torn from them- from her; and then she wasn't even able to marry him like the proud bride she knew Ginny would be someday…

She sighed and scooted over on the bench. Victoire took the invitation happily and climbed up beside her.

Hermione was silent and after a minute Victoire spoke.

"Are you hiding?" she said.

Hermione smiled again. "Sort of," she admitted.

"You're terrible at it," Victoire informed her. "Mister Malfoy knew you were here."

"Did he?" Hermione murmured and looked down at the bright blond head.

"Uh-huh."

"So he told your mum and she sent you on out?"

Victoire shook her head.

"No? Then what happened?"

"He told me," she said in a low voice, leaning towards Hermione. She scooted over a bit more and snuggled up next to her.

"I remember you," she told the older witch. Hermione was touched. She'd only last seen Victoire when she was, oh, no older than three. And now she was already five, nearly six.

"You do?"

"You sang me a lullaby. Maman only knows the tune. She sings it sometimes." Victoire hummed a few bars and Hermione felt her heart turning tightly in on itself.

"That's not a lullaby," Hermione informed her seriously and finally gave in to the girl's snuggling by slipping an arm behind her shoulders.

"It isn't?"

"No, not really. It's a song about life," she explained.

"Will you sing it again?"

"Oh, it's been a long time…"

"Please?" Victoire pleaded with her and Hermione smiled down at her fondly. Her heart ached more, if that was possible.

"Well, alright. Just a little."

Victoire settled back against her and smiled happily, waiting for her treat. Hermione cleared her throat, tested out a few notes. Then she started to sing the words very softly.

"Bows and flows of angel hair…and ice cream castles in the air…and feather canyons, everywhere…" She paused, blinked back tears, took a breath. "I've…looked at clouds, that way. But…now they only block the sun. They rain and snow on…everyone. So many things I…would've done-"

Her voice trailed off and she swallowed hard, closing her eyes against the tears. Victoire shifted beside her.

"Miss Hermione?" She pronounced the name in the French manner and Hermione felt absolutely transported back to everything that had come before. The Tri-Wizard Tournament. Long days at Hogwarts. Friendship that overcame anything. Harry's stubbornness, Ron's temper. And always, her parents there to ground her to the muggle world with their proud faces, their support. Her father's sense of discipline. Her mother's secret love of Joni Mitchell. The belief that their daughter could and would go on to do anything her heart desired…

She held Victoire to her tighter for a brief moment, reveling in the memories and hating them at the same time; then abruptly let go, though she placed a gentle hand on the girl's head.

"I'll have to…sing it for you another time, Victoire. I'm sorry. Do you mind?"

Victoire climbed off the bench and shook her head solemnly. "No. Maybe I can come back with Maman and Papa. Will you sing it next time? Please?"

"I will," Hermione murmured. "I promise."

"Did I make you feel bad?"

"No, Victoire. It's not your fault. Please don't worry about me."

Victoire continued to look up at her solemnly and then stood on tiptoe, putting her hands on Hermione's legs and reaching up to her. Hermione leaned over and Victoire placed a kiss on either cheek.

"Please don't feel bad, Miss Hermione."

"Ok. Thank you, Victoire. Go on back inside, now."

Victoire nodded and raced back over to the door. Hermione's eyes followed her and she saw Draco standing there, holding the door open. He put a hand on Victoire's head as she passed and the little girl smiled up at him before dashing inside. Then he lifted his eyes to Hermione's.

She found it impossible to hold in her tears any longer and hunched over further, hair falling over her face, hiding her pain.

"So you sent her out," she muttered and Draco hesitated, then shut the door and walked over to her.

"I just thought someone should check on you," he murmured. "I didn't expect it to upset you."

"Children always will, to a certain degree," she replied. "It's not your fault, or theirs. It's just how it is. I expect if I spend more time with them it will get easier."

"Is that why you only run those classes once a week? Not just because it's a strain to be around people, but because of…"

"That they're children? Yes, that's part of it." She sniffed and sat up, wiping at her cheeks. He sat down beside her cautiously, eyes never leaving her. She didn't look to him.

"Why children?" he said. "Or shouldn't I-"

"No, you can ask," she said. "It's not really a secret. I…can't have children," she finished, voice breaking slightly. She wiped her cheeks again.

"Never?"

"Like I'd be a fit mother in the first place," she said wryly.

"I think you'd be a brilliant mother," Draco responded softly. She finally looked at him and saw he was completely serious. She glanced away again.

"Anyway, that's the last of my secrets, I promise," she said and stood up. She sat back down again immediately. Her legs were far too shaky. Draco ran a finger along the back of her hand. When she didn't brush it away, he slowly slid his hand over hers, lacing his fingers through her own. She looked down at their hands and made a face- but it wasn't a bad look.

It was her trying to keep from crying again.

He brought her hand up to his mouth and laid a kiss on her palm before lowering it again and wrapping his other hand about it, squeezing it gently. She exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes, but a second later she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder.

Neither of them said a word, just looked out over the backyard- the garden, the fields and hills, the barn in the distance. Sounds filtered from the house- dishes clanking, being washed, loud conversation, laughter, pleasant whispers, the shuffle of feet, the occasional cry of a child. But the silence between Draco and Hermione passed for the greatest understanding, and the sun continued its slow descent to the Western horizon.

* * *

An hour later, after everything had been put back in order; and Molly had thrust a multitude of leftovers upon Hermione; and the miniature Weasley families had already left, with a promise to come again; and Hermione had reassured Harry not to worry about redoing the wards; and Ginny had taken the old dining set away. Long after dinner, Hermione finally stood out front with Harry and Molly and Arthur, chatting one last time. Harry had pulled Hermione aside to reassure her that Zabini had reached the continent and was speeding along towards Russia, which was why she'd insisted that he not worry about resetting the wards. They were still protected, and the Weasleys expected to come back again. He sighed and agreed.

"As long as you're alright with it. And where are the Malfoys?"

"Oh, they're about-"

Arthur approached them, Molly hurrying along behind. "Just said goodbye to them, ourselves. I say, Hermione, Lucius really has changed, hasn't he?"

"In some ways," Hermione replied. She looked closely at the couple. "Were you just threatening them?"

"Er, not at all-"

"A little bit, perhaps?" Molly said. "But oh, come now. You can't expect us to see you after all this time and not try and take care of you, can you, dear? Of course not. Oh, Hermione-" The older witch pulled Hermione into a sudden, tight embrace. "We've missed you so much, dear."

Arthur gave a cough and Molly pulled away finally, letting him hug Hermione warmly as well.

"That we have. And I hope you'll come see us again now, as well."

"Oh, I…"

"Nonsense, of course she will. And we'll come see her. Oh, my dear-"

Hermione found herself crushed in another hug. She looked over Molly's shoulder at Harry, who merely shrugged helplessly. When she finally pulled away again, Hermione gave them her most apologetic look.

"It really is getting late- I need to take care of my horses now. Thank you so much for coming. It really was wonderful-"

"Well, actually, we have one other thing we wanted to speak with you about," Molly murmured. She looked over at Arthur, who nodded and motioned with one hand. Hermione looked at them both curiously.

"About…?"

Molly glanced at Arthur again and then pulled a long, slender box from her shoulder bag.

"Well, Hermione, dear. I don't know quite how to put this, except…"

Arthur spoke up. "When Ronald…passed on, he left- that is, Molly and I-"

"We weren't sure what to do with some of his things. Of course, the money went to you through Gringotts and all that was taken care of," Molly said, clearly struggling to speak of it all. Hermione felt as though she wanted to run back to the house and slam the door in both their faces.

Instead, she tried to focus on their words and not look as if she was about to be ill.

Arthur picked it up again.

"Molly and I took his things for you, if you recall. Because-"

"And we were happy to," Molly interrupted. She pressed a handkerchief to her eyes and then held the box out. "But when Ginny told us how you were, and then Harry mentioned you as well and now, with this dinner…"

"We really feel it's time we give this to you," Arthur finished for her, gesturing at the box. "Go on, Hermione. Please. It was yours anyway, by the terms of the will. This and the money."

Hermione hesitated and looked to Harry, who was staring at the box with a strange look upon his face.

"I'm sorry," Hermione murmured. "But what is it?"

"It's Ronald's wand," Molly said in a teary voice. "The one he purchased new once you all…came back. His prized possession. You remember?"

Hermione nodded slowly and then gingerly reached her hands out and took the box from Molly. So, Ron had left her his wand.

"Why?" she asked.

Arthur looked at her kindly. "He always wanted you to take it up again, Hermione. But after he…passed, we knew you wouldn't want it. You weren't ready for it. But Molly and I talked yesterday and we thought that perhaps you should have it now."

"But…"

"I don't think he expected you to use it, Hermione," Molly murmured through her tears. "But you know as well as any of us how much a wizard's wand is a part of him. And Ron wanted you to have his."

Hermione's hands shook as she held the box. She looked up to Molly and Arthur and tried to smile for them.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I…thanks."

"Of course, dear," Molly murmured and hugged a stiff Hermione one last time. Then she and Arthur started down the drive, leaving Hermione staring at the box in her hands.

Harry watched her carefully for a minute or so.

"Are you going to be alright?" he finally asked. She shook her head.

"Yeah. Fine. Brilliant," she murmured, choking on the last word.

"I can stay-"

"Just go, Harry," Hermione whispered. Her hands were still shaking. Harry put a hand on her shoulder, leaned in and kissed her temple. Then he gave her shoulder a squeeze and started away as well.

Only once they were all out of sight did Hermione allow her feelings to bubble to the surface. Her hands tightened about the box, shaking badly now, and her lips trembled from holding back tears.

Without warning, she gave a scream and threw the box to the ground. It opened and the wand went clattering away over the dirt and pebbles. She screamed again for good measure, staring hatefully at the shiny stick that hadn't saved Ron's life anymore than it had saved hers.

"I don't want it!" she yelled at the sky. "I don't want your fucking stupid wand, you imbecile! I wanted _you_-" And her voice broke with rage and tears as she collapsed to her knees in the drive, just feet away from the offensive wand.

And that was where Lucius found her, thirty minutes later, sobbing in the dirt and pounding the ground with her fists; and where he called to Draco to come and help him; and where they left the wand lying as they took Hermione into the house in the growing dusk.

* * *

**AN: See? I mentioned Zabini. Nyah.**


	44. Don't Let Them Know

**I don't own HP at all and make no money here. J.K. owns everything.**

**AN: And the drama picks up again? Surely most of you can see where I'm going with this? But please, remember well all my other reassurances in the chapters to come! It makes my life easier. I am not here to hold your bloody hands all the way through the process, silly people.**

* * *

It rained that night, and Hermione found herself standing in the living room, staring out the window into the dark, to where she knew Ron's wand still lay. Getting muddy and worn, no doubt.

But she stayed inside and didn't go out to search for it. The outside lamps gave some illumination, but it was still raining. There was a footfall on the stairs behind her and she turned, arms crossed tightly over her chest, holding her robe closed over her pajamas. It was Draco. She'd sent both of them up to their own room that night, because she'd been too upset from earlier to want anything to do with them, let alone intimacy of that nature.

Draco wasn't wearing a shirt- she was really going to have to get after him about that particular habit. She'd let him become far too open in his ways since they'd…he stopped at the foot of the stairs and saw her , made his way towards her.

She watched the pull and stretch of his muscles and turned back around, glad the darkness hid the sudden flush of her cheeks.

He ran a hand through his hair and stared out the window as well.

"Watching the rain?"

She shook her head. He looked at her keenly.

"I brought the wand inside, Hermione," he said softly. "Rolled it into a towel and brought it in that way. Since I couldn't handle it outright-"

She whirled about.

"I didn't ask you to bring it in," she began.

He held up his hands. "I know. But you shouldn't leave something like just lying about that way. What if some stranger did find a way around your wards?"

"Draco-" She stopped abruptly and turned back around. "God damn it," she whispered a second later.

Draco frowned.

"I just came down for some tea. I'll be in the kitchen, out of your hair." He started to back away, but she turned around again and reached out, grabbed his arm. He paused and looked down at her hand, then up at her.

His jaw was set and he looked upset, or hurt. Hermione couldn't quite tell; their faces were so in shadow. Then he spoke.

"Make up your mind," he said, voice tense. She dropped her hand and stepped away from him. He continued to look down at her. "Well?" he said. "Is that your answer, or are you going to use words and explain it all for me?"

She shook her head and started to turn around again. This time he reached out and grabbed her. She gave a small gasp and tried to pull away, but he held her arm tight.

"So you'll just keep walking away from every little confrontation, Hermione, really?"

She made a small, unhappy noise and he swore and released her arm. She rubbed at it.

"I didn't mean make up your mind for all time, damn it," he said. "But it's late and you didn't want me around earlier and I really did just come down for some tea. So if you'd like me to keep you company, you're going to have to make it quite clear."

"Do you…not want to?" she asked and he sighed, ran his hand through his hair again.

"Of course I do," he murmured. He paused and then went on, "Would you like some tea as well?"

She nodded quickly and moved ahead of him, towards the kitchen. He followed her more slowly, rubbing his face in frustration and trying not to sigh again. They both stopped short when she turned on the light and stood blinking in the brightness for a second while their eyes adjusted.

Hermione went to the stove and shook the kettle, then started it. She reached for the tea tin and pulled it out, along with the other tea implements- a cozy, spoons. Draco walked over to stand behind her and reached over her head into the cupboard for mugs.

Mugs for tea at night, cups for tea any other time. She was a peculiar creature in some ways. He smiled slightly as he lowered his arm and there was a movement in front of him as Hermione noticed his proximity. She turned around and looked up at him, leaning back against the counter. He set the mugs down and then reached up again, shutting the cupboard door slowly. His eyes roamed over her face.

"Am I in your way?" he asked and she shook her head. Then she slipped her arms under his extended ones, wrapping them about his torso and laying her head against his chest. He gave a slight start, then finished shutting the cupboard and lowered his hands to her shoulders.

"What is it?" he asked and kissed the top of her head. She shook her head and held him more tightly.

"Nothing," she murmured after a moment. "Why were you up?"

"Couldn't sleep," he replied and gave in to the embrace, sliding his arms around her shoulders. She nestled closer and he felt his heart begin pounding.

"Is it the headaches?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Those are better. Ibuprofen is amazing."

"And the massages help?"

Draco was silent for a moment. It was hard to say whether those were more help than hindrance, honestly, considering he walked away from every single one wanting to screw Hermione into the floor. In fact, the sex that always followed the massages had probably done more to relax his chronic tension than anything else.

But he probably shouldn't say that.

"Yeah," he finally said. "The massages help."

She nodded against him and gave a somewhat contented sigh. He kissed her head again.

"Hermione, no offense, but this isn't like you."

"I'm not very affectionate, you mean?" she asked and he laughed some.

"No…you seem very…" Needy, he finished in his mind. Vulnerable. But again, he couldn't exactly say those things. He settled on another question. She'd talked to him some the last two days. Maybe she'd confide in him now.

"What's bothering you?" he asked and she buried her face against his chest, rubbed her cheeks across it.

Then again, he wished she weren't doing that right then, either. It was very difficult to concentrate on her words when all he could feel was her soft body against his and softer lips along his bare skin.

"Nothing," she said at first, but sighed a minute later. "Loads of things."

"Is it the wand?"

"That's part of it," she admitted. "It's just…another sign of change I'm not ready for. That I don't want. I feel as if…everyone is pushing me to change, to move on. Ron did it first," she said softly. "And when I moved away, Ginny and Harry kept after me. And now things are happening so quickly, just after I've got used to a few of the changes."

"Like us?" he asked, hardly daring to breathe.

She looked up at him, let go. He drew away as well and leaned on the island, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her.

"Like you," she said after a moment.

The kettle began whistling, breaking the tension and she turned away. Her hands were shaking again as she poured the water. Draco suddenly moved behind her again, taking the kettle from her hands and setting it aside. He turned her back around, held her again.

"What-"

"Shh," he murmured. "Let me hold you…while I still can."

She didn't protest and relaxed against him once more; leaving the water in the mugs behind them to cool, and the tea to brew too long.

It didn't matter anyway, because a few minutes later Draco was leading her from the now darkened kitchen and back to her bedroom, the door closing firmly behind them. They had ghosts to deal with tonight, and no amount of tea would fix it.

* * *

Another week passed. Hermione wasn't sure where the time was going. Between fretting over practicing magic- she'd promised Harry that Ron's wand would do for her, after all (anything to get him off her back about the damned magic); and counting down the days until her life would be Malfoy-free (and trying to convince herself that was actually a good thing); she didn't have time for anything else. Not with all the regular chores thrown in on top of that.

But the emotional turmoil was definitely the worst. Chores, she was used to. Her horses, she could handle them in her sleep. The healing scars, the curling her fingers about a wand, the digging out her old text books…that was the hard part. Of course, she could have saved herself some trouble if she'd gotten a new wand, herself, rather than using Ron's simply because it was convenient…ha. There was nothing convenient about using her dead lover's wand. She ended up getting angry and throwing it across the field half the time.

In fact, after the fourth failed practice attempt, Lucius had found her and had to help her look for it. After he'd comforted her tears of frustration.

"You're a mess," he said, looking her over with a critical eye as he watched her pick up the wand again.

She sat down hard in the grass and looked up at him balefully.

"I know," she replied. "But you can't tell me you wouldn't be the same."

He sniffed and tossed his hair over his shoulder.

"Of course I wouldn't. What do you take me for?"

"An old man," she shot back and then grimaced. "Sorry."

"I do believe you're becoming entirely too free with that word these days," he replied and when she didn't respond, just stared in front of her with watery eyes and a frown on her face, he finally sighed and picked out a spot to sit beside her, lowering himself into the grass gingerly.

"That," he said stiffly, "was a joke."

"I know," she replied and gave him a wry look. "It wasn't very good."

There was silence for a moment and then Lucius spoke again.

"What is bothering you?" he said, echoing his son's question from a week ago. Hermione cast a strange look at him and he felt her gaze intensely.

"More change," she muttered and looked away again, only to feel his gaze upon her that time. She turned and met his eyes.

"Tell me," he said, his voice as gently commanding with her as it was with his son. She shivered and tried to tear her eyes away.

"You can't intimidate me into confidences, Lucius," she finally said. He gave her a smug look.

"Oh? I was sure I'd been doing rather decent work of it already."

She pursed her lips and stared back at him for a second longer. "Do you delight in making Draco envious of you?"

Lucius' eyes narrowed and he raised a brow. "On the contrary, Hermione, you're the one causing his jealousy of me all on your own."

"Oh, and how am I doing that?" she retorted, feeling her ire.

"I think you know," he replied, his voice smooth.

Her face paled, her scars standing stark against her skin. His eyes traced over them. That was entirely Draco's doing, yet she sat here picking a fight with him over that same boy's feelings. Ridiculous. Didn't the girl know anything?

"I'm not the only one walking a line here, Lucius," she finally responded, her voice low. "I appreciate your companionship and I'm probably a little fond of you. But that's as far as it goes."

He eyed her a moment more before looking away, out over the field that still smelt of the magic she'd been attempting.

"Hermione," he began slowly, "I really don't know why you're attempting to pick a fight with me, when it's Draco you want to push away, knowing that you'll have to give him up soon."

Hermione slapped him. He actually felt it, she'd put so much effort behind it. He felt his face change as he touched his jaw, felt the anger trying to escape. He controlled it and turned back to her.

"I take it that means you do want to push him away, but can't anymore, since you feel you actually need him now?"

She lifted her hand to hit him again and then balled it into a fist and hit the ground instead.

"I wish I hated you," she hissed and then she was up and walking away. He watched her go, then turned and rubbed at his jaw some.

He missed his wife.

* * *

Harry set the letter back on his desk. It was an emergency, that his border contact had sent an owl straight to his office at the ministry. The message was coded, of course, but that didn't change the fact that it was extremely dangerous for him to have done so. He rubbed his forehead out of habit and looked at the letter again. It still said the same thing.

_The package has not arrived._

Oh, no. No, no, no. He rubbed his forehead again and then reached into one of his pockets, feeling for change. He had to find a phone now. No, first he had to owl Ginny. Then he had to find a phone. Then he had to find Zabini.

* * *

Hermione stalked back into the house in time to catch the ringing telephone.

"Hello?" she growled.

"Hermione, it's Harry," came a tentative voice and Hermione took a deep breath.

"Hi, Harry. What is it?"

"Look, I can tell this is a bad time, but you need to know something- I already sent Ginny a message, informing her-"

"Harry, you'd better get on with it if it's important."

"Right, sorry," he muttered. "Look, Zabini is unaccounted for."

"Excuse me?" Hermione responded. "Harry, what does that-"

"It means," he interrupted, "that Zabini is fucking unaccounted for and has not reached his contact for the next stage of his journey to his new bloody life. It means that he could be anywhere, right now, because in order for him to go off the grid we had to lift all wards and magic sanctions. Do you understand why I'm so worried now?" he finished quietly and Hermione felt her heart stop, then speed up again.

"Are you sure?" she breathed.

"As sure as I can be," he replied. "Zabini is in the wind and I need to come over and check your wards-"

"Harry, we went over this last Sunday. You know we're safe out here."

"You never know when someone will find a loophole around a spell, Hermione," he replied patiently.

"But Zabini didn't even care about me- he was angrier at Ginny-"

"Ginny is at my flat now," Harry explained. "She's safe as can be. I know Zabini blamed me the most, but I want to check-"

"Shouldn't you be out tracking him?" Hermione asked. "Harry- it's a waste of time to come out here. Look, I have a wand now, I can defend us if need be. And those wards are airtight. You know they are. I don't want you worrying about us any. Zabini doesn't even know where I live, Harry. He didn't even know my alias, which is what this address is listed under. You're worrying about nothing."

"Hermione-"

"Harry, stop it. I insist you focus on your cases at hand, focus on starting that search for him. That's going to take some doing anyway, since you can't very well search for someone who's supposed to be dead, can you?"

Harry was quiet and Hermione went on.

"There you are. I'm right, you know I am. Thank you for calling and telling me, Harry. I'll inform Lucius and Draco. We'll be especially careful. And you can come over in a day or so and check everything then, but only once you've gotten things sorted from your end. Alright? I absolutely insist."

Harry made a few disgruntled noises and finally agreed with Hermione. "Tomorrow," he said. "I'll be by tomorrow night, at the latest. Alright? And we may have to move up the Malfoys' escape because of this."

"Oh, Harry, no-" Hermione began, then stopped abruptly, covering her mouth.

Harry was quiet for a minute before speaking again.

"Hermione? They haven't changed their minds, have they?"

She shook her head, held the phone tightly. "No, that's not what I…I'm being silly. Please, go take care of the problem, Harry. I'll see you tomorrow night."

He replied hesitantly. "Alright. Tomorrow night or sooner. Lock everything up tight tonight, Hermione."

"I will," she replied softly. "Night, Harry."

He murmured a goodbye and hung up as well. Hermione stood staring at the phone in her hand for a second before putting it back in its cradle. Her other hand tightened about the wand she was still holding, and she jumped when she heard a footfall in the hall behind her. She whirled about, wand trained at Draco, who was standing with his hands up.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said and she gave a short laugh and lowered the wand. She leaned back against the hall table.

"You didn't- I just…that was Harry," she finished. She waved the wand about lazily before setting it behind her on the table. "Zabini has not shown up at the latest check point, apparently."

Draco frowned. "Like hell he hasn't."

"I'm afraid not." She tired to smile bravely. "Harry needs to get a search party begun, but he'll be over tomorrow night to double check on all the wards. He thinks it's himself Zabini is after-"

"It isn't," Draco murmured. "It's us. Me and Dad."

Hermione paled. "You don't- why would it be you?"

"Because," Lucius broke in, walking up the hall from the back door, "it was my awakening that brought the unfortunate truth to the surface. If I'd never come around, it's likely he could have continued to pull the wool over Miss Weasley's eyes and been out on good behavior after a time."

Hermione shook her head. "That would never have happened. Ginny is a pit bull."

"Zabini never was one to listen to reason when it came to saving his own skin," Lucius responded and Draco crossed his arms, agreeing with his father. Both men looked back at Hermione.

"And Potter's not coming until tomorrow night?"

Hermione shook her head again.

"But honestly, his wards are some of the best. And I already told him, Zabini doesn't know where I live. He has no idea how to get here! We're perfectly alright, you two, honestly."

Draco and Lucius exchanged glances.

"Isn't there a marathon of one of those ridiculous shows on the television this evening?" Lucius suddenly asked.

"Oh, er…yeah," Draco responded. "An all night marathon, right?"

"Yes. I had wondered if I might watch it. Would either of you care to join me?"

Hermione watched the forced banter between father and son a minute longer before she spoke up.

"You both are idiots," she declared. "Stay up all night if it makes you feel better. I'm going to take care of the horses and then eat and go to bed like a normal person."

Draco looked somewhat pained at her words, but watched her go with a feeling of satisfaction. Lucius wasn't sure if satisfaction was the word for how he felt, particularly, and he rubbed his jaw again. Draco glanced over and noticed the action, then noticed the red spot on his father's face.

"You alright, Dad?"

Lucius gave his son a disinterested glance and shrugged. "One of the horses," he murmured in explanation. Draco's brow wrinkled as he tried to work that one out, but Lucius had already turned to go into the kitchen and brew the first pot of coffee.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

**AN: The last phase of my evil plot? Or next to last phase? Only time will tell! Eheeheeheeheeeee! :)**


	45. Sooner or Later

**I don't own HP, ok? Ok. J.K. owns everything and I don't make any money here.**

**AN: Ok, dudes and dudettes, I need you to trust me here, ok? You trust me? Good. Then keep in mind that trust and all the reassurances as you read this and the coming chapters.**

**Also, you might be fools for trusting me, but I want you to try, anyhow. ;)**

**Eau-bleu...yes. No. Yes. What was the question? **

* * *

Hermione was restless that night in all her chores, but she kept her promise and refused to stay up with the stalwart father and son. She said goodnight to the men at the entry of the living room before walking across the hall and into her room, shutting the door behind her. Draco looked after her longingly and Lucius nearly gestured, nearly told him to go after her if he wanted her so badly, but he stopped himself in time. Draco and Hermione were adults and the situation was not a natural, or easy one. If they wanted to solve things they needed to do it by themselves, so they could at least have the benefit of knowing their choices in the matter were entirely their own doing. There could be no blaming of fates on others at this point in time, no avoiding their own feelings.

Unfortunately, Lucius didn't see quite how they could handle things well and clearly, either. They had only a week left, after all- a week and a half. That was hardly enough time to come to a decision, although in his day he could recall plenty of witches and wizards younger than them who'd pledged themselves with all their hearts. Still, things were different for his Draco and their care giver. If Draco stayed willingly, he could never try and clear his family name, not if he wanted to definitely be off on good behavior. And Lucius knew that Draco was the sort of good young man who desperately wanted that. Were his feelings for Hermione stronger? Lucius wasn't sure.

And he doubly wasn't sure of Hermione's feelings. Oh, certainly, there was something intense and basic about the attraction they shared. His son was tender with Hermione in a way he'd never seen him before. And Hermione…she lit up around Draco. He wasn't sure his son saw it, or if she was aware of it, but she would blush, and her eyes would follow him, and her step gained a nervous spring to it.

It was painful, yet touching, and he knew without a doubt, no matter how he felt about his own situation, let alone her, that he wanted to see his son happy. He could admit to himself easily that he wasn't in love with her; not the way Draco loved her. He cared for her, he wanted her to smile, he saw so much of the other great witches he'd known in her…and of course, she was his last connection to Narcissa, save Draco.

And _oh_, how he missed his wife.

There was a small noise from beside him and he looked over in the light from the quietly playing television to see Draco had fallen asleep. His face was relaxed, peaceful, and he looked so like the little boy Lucius had once known and held upon his lap. Impulsively, he stood up and walked over to him, bent over and kissed his forehead.

"I love you," he whispered, smoothing Draco's hair back tenderly. "Pleasant dreams, my boy."

Then he picked up a blanket and pulled it over him, tucking it about his shoulders. He left the television on and carried Draco's coffee cup back into the kitchen. Placing it in the sink, he absentmindedly reached over and flipped the coffeepot off.

He knew he wouldn't get any sleep tonight, regardless. Not with his mind firing this way.

Glancing outside, he rinsed out the cup and ran the dishrag over it. Then he turned it over on the drain board to dry, and continued to stare out the window. All was dark, except the light outside the barn, glowing in the distance. Lucius narrowed his eyes briefly at the shadows and then turned away and moved back out into the living room.

Draco was still asleep, and Lucius was about to head up the stairs to the loo when a noise from inside Hermione's bedroom caught his ear. He hesitated only briefly before walking over to her closed door. He knocked lightly and glanced back over his shoulder to Draco, who gave no sign of waking up.

The noise came again. Was that…tears? Moans of pain? He couldn't tell. He knocked again and still, nothing. Annoyance flickered across his face. Was this what Draco had dealt with all those nights before? The nagging concern, the reluctance to intrude?

The noise came again, more loudly, and Lucius decided he'd better intrude anyhow. Slowly, he placed his hand on the door knob and turned it until it clicked open. Then he quietly pushed it open and peered into the dark bedroom. He could just make out a lump huddled in the middle of the bed, shaking. The occasional soft cry was drawn from beneath the sheets, followed by a low moan.

Lucius glanced over his shoulder again, but there was no sign of life from the living room. He moved further into the room and hesitated at the side of the bed until she began crying again. Then he sat down quickly and put a hand to what he hoped was her shoulder.

He'd be damned if she woke his boy up again, when he was just getting a good night's sleep.

"Hermione," he called softly and shook her shoulder slightly. She responded by twisting around and throwing her arms about his waist, burrowing against him.

He was caught off guard and pulled back, but she only held him tighter. He couldn't see her face, because it was so dark in the room, but he could feel her against him, thin and shaking, cheeks wet with tears. She was sobbing openly now and he finally lowered his arms and tried to comfort her, reassure her it was just a nightmare.

"Hermione, you were dreaming," he said softly. "Wake up, now. Please-"

She shuddered against him as his hands rubbed her back, mumbled something into his chest.

The whole scene was pitiful, and Lucius felt his heart beat faster. The poor, stupid girl. And of course she was cold- the chit was barely dressed. No wonder Draco had been seduced. Lucius felt heat come to his cheeks and he looked at the doorway again. Hermione was shivering violently now and he finally tore his eyes from the shred of light creeping in from the living room and tightened his arms about her, giving in to her pathetic tears.

"Shh," he murmured. "You're safe now. I have you."

She mumbled something again and he began to rock her gently in his arms, back and forth. Gradually, the crying stopped and the shaking went too as he held her close, warming her, bringing her back to wakefulness.

* * *

Hermione was dreaming of the torture again. It had been weeks, literally, since she'd dreamt of it in so much detail; and to see it now, to relive it…was horrible. But there was a difference in this dream- instead of the Death Eaters hovering over her as Ron forced unspeakable acts upon her; it was Blaise Zabini who stood in the corner, an awful smile upon his face; while Ginny curled away from the scene before her, covering her eyes and ears as best she could. She cried and moaned and was very proud of herself for not screaming- Zabini wanted to hear her screams, she knew that- but then _he_ came again, and pushed everyone out of the way, as he had before.

He brought the light.

She gasped with relief, but couldn't open her eyes against the images, even as she felt him holding her, comforting her. She tried to tell him that, and thank him, but her lips wouldn't obey her. She could only feel his strong arms holding her, only smelled his aftershave. He enveloped her in warmth and familiarity and it was finally enough to calm her, to stop her shaking and her tears.

"Hush," he was saying, as he had before, his voice barely a whisper. She felt his hand on her head, in her hair, and she finally lifted her face and blinked. It was too dark to see, but she could feel him there, in front of her.

"Draco," she breathed and relaxed against him again, heard his heart beating fast. He stiffened some and she wrapped her arms further about him. "I'm sorry I woke you again," she mumbled. "Thank you."

Then she lifted her face and caught his lips to hers, relief in every line of her body. But there was something wrong. Instead of relaxing and pulling her closer, tension ran all along him, and he tried to pull away before he gave in to the kiss. She whispered his name against his lips again and he did jerk away from her that time, held her off.

"What-"

"I'm sorry," he hissed and then thrust her away and stood up. She blinked up at him again, confused.

"Draco," she began and suddenly the room was flooded with light from the hallway as someone flipped a switch.

She froze as she realized it was Lucius standing so near her bed. She swallowed hard and tried to tear her eyes from his face, but couldn't. He was staring back at her, panic and anger surging through his shoulders, making him appear vibrantly alive for a split second before he pressed his lips together and turned his head away, towards the door. She licked her lips, scared to follow his line of sight. She started to say Draco's name again, but before she could complete it she heard his voice.

It was dreadfully cold.

"I'm over here, Hermione," he said and she slowly turned her head to see him standing there, one foot in the door, hand on the light switch outside.

Her heart plummeted to her stomach. She could see from the set of his face that he'd watched the entire thing. That was why Lucius had pushed away so quickly. That was why…Lucius…she looked back at the older man, who was staring at his son, shame written across his face.

"Lucius, I…Draco-" She turned to him again, eyes pleading, and he stepped back into the hall. His eyes flicked from her to his father and back to her.

Then he turned and left without another word, taking the stairs up and a second later they heard the bedroom door slam. Hermione jumped at the noise and closed her eyes, tried to control her temper, calm herself.

Lucius didn't say a word as he watched the emotions fly across her face, and when she finally opened her eyes and glared at him, he was able to return her gaze without _much_ of a reaction.

"You heard him," she said. "You heard him at the door- that's why you pulled away. Not because you didn't want to kiss me. Because you heard him. What the hell sort of game are you playing at, Lucius?"

His lips twitched slightly at the corners and he eyed her coolly.

"I am a warm blooded male, Hermione," he murmured. "You can hardly expect me to show no reaction at all to a beautiful woman's kiss."

Her face changed, turned thoughtful. He realized that was perhaps not the best choice of words.

"Lucius…I don't-"

He cut her off. "I don't, either, Hermione, so stop deluding yourself. It was an accident, more so than the first time. I came in because I heard you crying and found you in a state, so I attempted to comfort you. You, in your delirium, thought I was Draco and kissed me. It was hardly an affair of any sort."

"Oh, god," she muttered and put her face in her hands.

"God has nothing to do with it," Lucius responded and she fairly growled and sprang into action, rising and grabbing her jumper before sweeping towards the door. Lucius reached out and grabbed her shoulder, stopping her. She pulled away.

"Let go of me-"

"Leave him be," he said softly. "He'll come around. He'll think it through. Leave him be, for now."

"I have to explain," she began and he shook his head.

"You don't. I'm telling you, I know my son. He's no imbecile. He's hurt right now, but he'll get over it. You'll only make it worse."

"Get your hands off me," she ground out, looking away from him and he released her shoulder, stepped back.

"Then by all means, go. Attempt to explain. I can't wait to hear the ensuing argument," he sneered and she glared at him again quite hatefully before turning and rushing for the stairs.

Lucius sighed and rubbed a hand over his face before turning and sitting on the edge of the bed again. He couldn't even waste time on feeling terrible, he was so tired of the entire charade of those two. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

A minute later, the yelling began.

No one really was going to be getting any sleep tonight. Yet he couldn't quite decide if that were a good thing, or not, at this point. Too much seemed to hang in the balance.

* * *

Hermione knocked softly on the door and called to Draco. A second later the door was flung open and Draco stood there looking down at her, obviously trying not to cry- that or trying not to murder her. It was hard to tell which. Hermione lifted a hand to him and when he glared at it, then at her, she dropped it again.

"Draco, please-"

"Please what? Please let you in so you can convince me that you aren't secretly in love with him? That you're not just sleeping with me because he doesn't want you? Merlin, Hermione, you meant it when you said it could be anybody in this position, didn't you? You don't even care-"

She slapped him hard across the face, just as she had with Lucius earlier. He stayed where he was a second, face angled downward, torso turned as he absorbed the shock of it. Then he brought his hand up slowly and rubbed his cheek, his jaw.

Hermione froze, shoulders tensed, hands covering her mouth in horror. Draco worked his jaw a moment and then finished his sentence.

"-that I love you," he breathed.

Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes against it all. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled, repeating it as if she could erase the last ten minutes.

"I don't care if you're sorry anymore or not, Hermione. I'm not sorry for saying that. It's fucking true, isn't it?" he asked, his voice gaining volume again. He could see she was as upset as he was, that she felt terrible for what he'd seen. But he couldn't stop pushing her. He had to know the truth, once and for all. Before he was gone and it was too late. He had to know.

"It isn't!" she exclaimed. "That was a mistake, just like before-"

Draco's heart stopped beating.

"Before?"

She covered her mouth again. Oh, god.

Draco whirled away, went to the window, stared out.

"So everything you said is true."

"Draco, that's not how it is!"

"Then tell me how it fucking is!" he returned, the words ripping from him. "Damn it, Hermione, I can't take this! Is it me or him? So help me, I'll…" He turned away again, suddenly brooding and Hermione let out an angry bark of laughter.

"You'll what? You're bloody stuck here, and I'm stuck with you! What did you think this was? I never promised you anything, Draco Malfoy."

His shoulders began to shake and she felt her shame growing. But her fear of being stripped, of being emotionally exposed before him when she was just going to lose him anyway…it made her angry, made her want to twist the knife deeper. She shook her head, tried to control that part of herself. This was Draco, and she…

Strays, she thought. We're all strays.

She took another step into the room. "Draco, I-"

"Get out," he hissed.

"You can't send me out of my own home," she shot back and he turned his head, gave her a sneer worthy of his father.

"No, I suppose not. Is that how you prefer it?" he asked. "Is that the only way you can handle your men? Bound and servile?"

Her face collapsed and he knew he'd pushed too hard.

"Hermione-"

She turned away, but didn't leave, instead leaned in the doorway briefly before stumbling out into the hall. He saw her clutch at the stair railing and slump to the floor, body shaking from silent sobs. His heart ached, and he started to cross the room, to go to her, when a shout from below stopped him, and he saw her head lift in response.

It was Lucius, and he sounded desperately alarmed. Draco knew he turned around swiftly, ran to the window again to look out, but it felt as if he were moving far too slowly; especially when he saw the bright orange glow coming from far behind the house.

The barn was on fire.

* * *

**AN: Trust me. Honest. I promise I don't plan on making a coat of your skins later. I swear.**


	46. Tear Stained Face

**I don't own any of this, blah, blah, blaaaah. **

**AN: This chapter is best read while listening to Papa Roach. I recommend the ever popular "Last Resort."**

* * *

Hermione was up in no time, argument completely forgotten in her panic for her horses, but even then she was surprisingly in control. She raced down the stairs, shouting to Lucius as he ran out of the house ahead of her and calling to Draco over her shoulder.

"Call Harry!" she shouted to him. "Then alert the fire department and come out with us- we have to get the horses-"

He could only nod and follow her downstairs. She snatched up the wand on the hall table by the phone, intent on putting out the flames, and ran into Lucius outside and he immediately put an arm out, blocking her path.

"Lucius, the horses!" she screamed and he turned and looked at her, caught her shoulders. She could hear terrified whinnies coming from the barn and she struggled against him. He gave her a shake.

"It's not a normal fire!" he shouted at her and she stared past him, to where flames were just beginning to lick up the outer edges of the building. One of them curled in on itself and the drew away from the side of the barn before darting back again.

"Oh my god," she whispered. "Fiendfyre. The horses." With an effort, she tore free from his grip and ran past him.

"Hermione-!" Lucius looked after her, started to follow, but Draco's cry made him pause. He turned and saw his son standing on the porch, phone in hand; a look of horror on his face as he watched the growing fire; as he watched the woman he loved tearing off across the field, headed straight for it.

"Draco, don't bother calling the fire department," he shouted. "Muggle water trucks won't work against this."

"Nothing will," Draco responded, dialing Harry. But Lucius didn't hear him, as he was running after Hermione in the next breath.

"Hermione!" he shouted again, reaching the barn in time to see her disappear inside what was swiftly becoming an inferno.

He hesitated briefly until the first of two horses came screaming through the open doors. Hermione had clearly cast some sort of spell to disperse them. Then she was at the door, pulling another one through.

"The paddock!" she yelled to him and Lucius responded instantly, running over to the fenced area, tugging the gate open wide and trying to herd one of the frightened creatures inside. Then Draco was at his side, calming the beast as best he could, taking over. Lucius glanced about, saw Hermione running back into the barn.

"Damn it!" he shouted and turned to Draco, whose face was stark in the bright glow. "Hermione went back inside-"

"I know!" Draco replied and headed the same direction. Lucius' heart leapt into his throat and he shouted at the horses, scaring them off to the far end of the paddock before he turned and followed the young idiots.

* * *

Hermione met Draco at the door, yanking another horse along behind her, trying desperately to coax it out.

"Draco!" she exclaimed. "Take her-"

He wrapped the lead around his hand without a word and ducked and ran, forcing the filly out alongside him. Hermione watched him go and then turned, running back down the aisle. It was unbearably hot inside the barn already, but miraculously, enough of the wards Harry had originally placed on the structure were keeping the roof from caving in; kept her horses safe inside their stalls from all but smoke inhalation. She yanked another door open, not caring about the burns on her palms, or her singed hair. The soot in her lungs. She had to save her horses.

She cast another spell at a pair of colts, sending them whinnying with terror as they raced down the aisle to the doors. She could just make out Draco meeting them through the haze and waved a hand to let him know she was alright. He raised a hand in return and she felt her heart squeeze painfully.

Everything before- she could see it so clearly, in the harsh light of the barn fire. In the face of what was so clearly Zabini's retaliation, his revenge.

Nothing mattered but her honesty with herself, with him, with Lucius. Draco deserved that from her. He deserved to know how much…she reached to open another stall and felt the metal latch burn her palm, blister her skin. She started to pull away from the pain, but pushed herself forward and tried to tug the door back.

It wouldn't come- it was stuck. She looked up and over the door and realized the problem. The metal was melting shut from the fire, the joists in the wood smoldering and collapsing, making it impossible to open. Inside the stall she heard the frightened horse screaming and she felt her heart contract again. It was her mare, her best girl. She wouldn't lose her- couldn't.

"Echo, I have you, girl!" she shouted and stepped away, leveled her wand at the door. She managed to fling it from its hinges and Echo exploded from the stall, whinnying and crying. Without warning, the mare reared back and a flying hoof caught Hermione in the shoulder.

And just like that, it was over. She lost the wand, lost her footing, went tumbling to the floor of the barn. She could vaguely hear shouts and whinnying around her; could detect shadows moving- the stamping of hooves, the running of feet. She felt strong arms lifting her and managed to open her eyes. Her vision was blurry. She tried to speak, but the air was too hot.

"I have to get you out," a voice rasped at her and she tried to focus.

"Lucius?"

"We can't save anymore," he yelled to her as he half carried, half dragged her down the aisle.

"The horses-"

"We have most of them, but we can't save-"

"Put me down," she protested. "I can…walk-"

"You need to run," he informed her and started them jogging towards the exit.

She dug in her heels. "The wand," she gasped and turned, summoned it to her. She felt faint. Lucius started to tug her along once more and she shook her head.

"Lucius, the horses- oh, the kittens-"

"Probably dead already!" he shouted over the roar of the fire.

Hermione felt tears streak down her red, stained cheeks and she paused in the doorway of the barn, staring back inside. An evil length of fiendfyre swooped towards them and Lucius forced her down in time.

"Damn it, witch-" he hissed in her ear and then she was being shoved out of the burning barn and into Draco's waiting arms as Lucius disappeared inside for what he hoped was the last time.

She fell against Draco, coughing and shaking. He held her tightly, putting out the smoking ends of her hair and kissing her brow.

"Where's Dad?" he finally asked and she looked up at him, tried to focus again. She shook her head.

"The cats- kittens," she breathed and started coughing again. Draco stiffened as he stared back inside the barn. A head of the fire snapped out at him from the open door and he stumbled back several feet, then scrambled back farther, collapsing on the ground with Hermione in his arms.

"Oh, god," he whispered and Hermione trembled as she tried to follow his line of sight. Something was wrong with her neck…her shoulder hurt. Draco looked down at her again as she gave a small moan and he gasped and tore the rest of her jumper away.

"Hermione, you're bleeding badly and your shoulder- you've dislocated it, at least- oh, god-" he finished in a hushed voice before he started to act, tearing her jumper to bits and trying to staunch the wound. She whimpered and he saw the wand was still in her hands. But of course she couldn't heal herself- not when she could barely see straight. "Hermione, you're still with me- stay awake, stay up for me. Potter will be here any minute, I'm sure of it, Hermione-" His voice broke on her name and he suddenly crushed her to him. She continued to tremble.

There was another roar from behind them and then, miraculously, his father was there. Draco looked up at him and saw he was shirtless, but carrying some sort of bundle in his singed and reddened arms. He set the bundle upon the ground beside them very gently and then collapsed beside it, lying on his back, one arm flung over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath- as he tried to breathe again at all. Half the ends of his hair had burnt away and there were sooty and blistering patches of skin all over his torso, but he was alive. Draco reached over to him, one arm still cradling Hermione.

"Dad?"

Lucius shook his head minutely and continued rasping air in and out of his burning, aching lungs.

The bundle moved slightly and in Draco's arms, Hermione made a small noise- but not one of pain this time. Lucius' arm fell back and he turned his head, sought out Hermione's face. Their eyes met across the bundle and he gave her the tiniest of smiles before he covered his eyes again, focused on breathing once more.

Draco stared down at Hermione's face, saw the tears shining on her cheeks again.

"The kittens," he said and she tried to nod. It turned out to be too painful. "Don't try and move," he murmured to her, kissed her forehead again. He looked back to the barn. The fire was raging completely out of control now, and there were no more terrified whinnies coming from inside.

There was overall a deeply unpleasant smell on the night's air. Draco gazed down at Hermione again and rocked her gently, making sure she was still awake. Across from them, air shuddered in and out of his father's chest. It was a tense peace as they waited for help to arrive.

So of course, it was broken again.

The curse hit Draco in the back, sending Hermione tumbling from his arms as his body was wracked with pain. He curled in on himself, gasping for air as he recovered from it.

"Crucio!" the voice yelled again- a voice they knew. Draco screamed and clawed at the ground as his limbs contorted under the curse. Feet away, Hermione rolled over in the dirt and tried to see who it was.

"Zabini?" she croaked and tried to pick herself up. The dark, blurry figure swept towards them and cursed Draco yet again. Hermione watched him writhing in pain and she felt tears fill her eyes again. First the barn, her horses, all the good things in her life- and all because this insane man had been after Draco? After his father? She wouldn't stand for it.

Except she couldn't even struggle to her knees, let alone her feet.

"Stay out of this!" Blaise yelled at her over the roar of the fire. She pushed herself to her knees anyway and tried to glare up at him.

Her shoulder hurt terribly.

"Leave him alone," she rasped.

"Granger, I'm not here for you!" he shouted and she closed her eyes, focused on standing. Draco screamed again. Hermione thought her heart would leap from her throat. She swallowed hard.

That hurt, too.

"So that's how you…got past them," she whispered. She needed to distract him, draw him away from Draco and Lucius.

"The wards? Pathetic," Blaise crowed.

Hermione perched on one knee as she continued to draw herself up. Draco's pain fed her anger, fueled her determination. She tried to focus on his crumpled, twisting figure as she spoke.

"But how did you-" she winced, "-find me?"

Blaise laughed maniacally. "My mother that Potter thought had abandoned me? Turned out she would do anything for her dear criminal of a son as long as he swore to stay far away from her. She knew how to find you, gave me a wand." He waved it about his head and Hermione was finally on her feet.

She was swaying, and her head throbbed horribly, but she was standing. She gripped Ron's wand tightly. Then she lifted it and fired at him.

The curse went wide and sparks showered the field behind him, lighting up the sky, startling him from his crazy laughter. He stared at her, face contorted with anger and fear.

But instead of firing back at her, he cursed Draco again.

"No!" Hermione screamed, voice completely gone. She stumbled towards Draco's limp body and Blaise chortled madly.

"Don't go near him!" he yelled to her, waving his wand about again. "He's mine!"

"Please-" she tried to speak, but no sound issued forth. Blaise's smile spread wider.

"Cat got your tongue?" he laughed merrily and then leveled his wand again.

Hermione fired another curse, and another. Both went wide and Blaise shook his head.

"You're only making it worse for-"

The next one hit him dead on- a lucky shot, Hermione was well aware, as she squinted at him, saw him lying in the grass several yards away.

"Stand up!" she managed to croak and he was on his feet again a minute later, shaking his head and looking decidedly pale.

"He'll pay for that-"

Another lucky shot. Zabini howled with rage and engaged her. She stumbled away from a Crucio just in time and fired back. She hit him, heard another howl of rage.

And so the deadly dance began, one partner insane with revenge and guilt; the other barely able to stand, but so full of righteous indignation and bitterness that it kept her erect when she should've been on the ground minutes before.

The duel was perhaps the most surreal Hermione had ever had. Blaise was so infuriated that many of his spells went wide, allowing Hermione to stumble along and duck them. She was still in awful pain and could barely see to respond, but she knew she had one chance for surviving this duel- two chances, really.

Either she avoided his curses long enough for Harry to arrive, or she killed him first. Another crucio hit the ground behind her and she tottered back, hid behind a row of bushes. The bushes burst into flames a second later and she cried out and crawled away.

Draco screamed again and Hermione's heart pounded. But at least the screams meant he was still alive, and awake again.

"You hear that?" Zabini roared. "For every minute you avoid me, every second you cower away and refuse to fight me like the fucking witch you are, I'll torture your boyfriend, here!"

Hermione gave a hoarse cry and ran forward on unsteady feet, firing at him again. Blaise fell away from Draco and held his wounded arm. But a second later the pain cleared from his face and he licked his lips.

"Fighting dirty now, Granger? I like it! Learned from some of the best, didn't you?"

"That's right!" she rasped and sent a spell slicing across his chest. He fell back again.

"What, no Unforgivables, Granger?"

She responded by ducking his next spell and pressing herself against the side of a water trough. The feel of the cool metal gave her an idea and she put the tip of the wand to the trough and chanted a spell. A second later the water bubbled and then twisted about, rising from the trough. It snaked through the air to Zabini and doused him good, crashing into him and sending him tumbling across the ground. As he sputtered for air and scrambled for footing on the now muddy ground, she pushed herself back up and leveled her wand at him.

"Expelliarmus!" she breathed, praying that her intention was enough, as she could barely make a sound any longer.

It worked, and Blaise's borrowed wand was flung far away from him. He shrieked with rage and again tried to climb to his feet.

"You good for nothing bitch!" he cried. "I didn't come here to fight you, you stupid woman! I want Malfoy! Draco and Lucius- if it weren't for them-"

Hermione didn't bother listening to the rest of the sentence. Blaise Zabini hadn't been guilty of much, but those few things that she and Ginny had been willing to forget, if not forgive, were compounded in light of tonight's tragedy.

Her horses, her livelihood, all the good things…and then to try and take those final two things from her, those good men, those idiotic, infuriating, brilliantly _good_ men…she didn't have to think in order to finish it all, and her lips formed the words easily, though Blaise never heard them spoken.

_Avada Kedavra_.

His shocked figure slumped back down into the mud almost immediately.

A second later, Hermione followed him, collapsing to her knees and staring before herself blankly, Ron's wand finally clattering from her hand to the ground.

* * *

Meters away, Draco rolled over and pushed himself up, some- most- of his muscles still cramping from the repeated curse. He shuddered hard and shook his head, trying to clear it. He couldn't hear anymore sounds of dueling, couldn't see any sparks of magic. All he heard was the roaring of the fire as the barn was consumed, the frightened whinnying of horses from the far end of the paddock. He blinked several times, pressed his hands to his eyes. He tried to call out despite his strained vocal chords.

"Hermione!" he yelled. "Hermione!" There was a shuffling sound and he blinked warily into the flickering shadows. A faint whisper came across to him. He turned and saw his father lying there, arm still covering his face.

"Dad?" he cried. "Did you say something?"

Lucius didn't respond and Draco shuddered again and crawled over to him, put a hand on his shoulder.

Lucius was utterly still. Draco felt panic bubbling inside him again and he turned away, yelled into the shadows again.

"Hermione! Please, if you're there- Dad- he's not breathing- Hermione!" He shook the older man again and leaned close to him. Beside them, the bundle continued to move slightly and Draco could suddenly hear the sound of mewing.

His heart was breaking.

* * *

Harry arrived at the end of the drive a split second before Ginny; but the red haired witch was already yards ahead of him as they practically flew down the gravel path, feet pounding the ground wildly.

"Hermione!" Ginny yelled at the top of her lungs, cutting away from the drive, around the house, through the fields. Towards the smoke and fire. It lit up the surrounding farmland for at least a mile, Harry was certain, and their shadows trailed long behind them as they approached the towering, smoking blaze.

He joined Ginny's desperate cries and then they saw them, yards out from the burning structure. Was that…

"Hermione!" Ginny yelled again and put on extra speed, dashing towards their huddled figures. Harry followed quickly and the two of them fell to the ground beside the couple. Draco was hunched over, holding one of Lucius' hands, and Hermione sat on the other side of him, looking decidedly lopsided and ill, her face and neck streaked with blood and soot, one shoulder horribly swollen, eyes glazed over. Ginny took her in and gingerly touched her cheek.

"Hermione?" she murmured, afraid to even ask.

Hermione looked at her with some effort, then glanced back to Lucius, whose chest was working up and down with a great effort, taking the shallowest of breaths. She sought out Draco's eyes and he looked up at her as if he'd felt her gaze.

"He's breathing again," she managed to rasp, then licked her cracked lips. Draco hunched over again.

Without another word, Ginny took Hermione in her arms and then started attending to the wounded trio. Harry watched them for a second, then stood again and turned to the fire; and began laying spells to contain it until it burned itself out. It was all he could do, until the team he'd called together arrived, to help deal with the remaining mess; writing up injuries, and property damage; and most of all, making sure Hermione and the Malfoys lived through the night.

* * *

**AN: Still trust me? Good. Stick with me, now. **


	47. Made To Be Broken

**Don't own it, it belongs to J.K., and I make no money off it.**

**AN: There are maybe five chapters left? Something like that. **

* * *

They made it through the night after all, with the help of a medi-witch sympathetic to Harry's secret cause. Hermione and Draco had both insisted on no hospitals, especially not St. Mungo's. Even a muggle facility apparently would've been preferable, but fortunately between the medi-witch's arrival and Ginny's first response care-giving, it was deemed unnecessary.

Unnecessary like hell, Draco thought as he sat by his father's bedside the next afternoon, watching the older man's chest rise and fall so bloody slowly. The truth was that they all should've gone to Mungo's, but they were so terrified of what the results might be, especially with an escape imminent…they didn't have time for bureaucracy and red tape. They had planning to take care of. Immediately, in fact. And so they'd been transported back to the house, into their proper rooms, and the spaces had been set up like sickrooms. Then they'd all been force-fed potions and sleeping draughts, with the exception of himself.

Draco was the best off of all three of them. It was his father who was barely responsive last night, who'd had to be revived by some of Hermione's muggle resuscitation. And it was Hermione who- well, look at her, he thought. She was nearly in as bad of shape as his father; one shoulder torn all to hell; lost so much blood she shouldn't have been able to stand last night, let alone duel. Let alone kill a man…for him. To save them.

And there was the next problem. Draco and his father had brought that to her. The tragedy, the loss of so many horses she'd loved like people, like the friends they were. Then her injuries- and on top of that the knowledge that she'd killed someone, murdered him quite deliberately…she shouldn't have had to deal with any of that. Yet, simply by being there on the farm, in her care, they'd done that to her.

"My fault," he mumbled, hanging his head, closing his eyes against that painful knowledge. He felt his father's fingers squeeze his briefly and Draco looked up quickly to find Lucius' eyes were open and he was staring straight at his son. The thrill of seeing his father awake was tempered by the emotion he saw in his eyes.

He'd heard Draco, and he understood.

"Dad," Draco said in a strangled voice.

"I know," Lucius breathed, not looking away. His eyes bore into Draco, clearing away everything else.

Draco shuddered, hunched over again.

"You're alive, at least," he said. "Thank Merlin you're alive. I can't do this, otherwise."

Lucius didn't respond, just continued to watch his son. A second later, Draco called for the medi-witch.

* * *

Hermione's eyes cracked open and she hissed in pain. A shadow crossed her face and in the next moment the shades were drawn, the light dimmed.

"Better?" came Ginny's voice. Hermione thought she nodded, but her neck felt afire, so it was hard to tell.

"No, don't move. I shouldn't have asked. Can you talk at all?"

"Think so," Hermione rasped. Bloody hell, was that her voice? She soldiered on. "Last night-"

"What do you remember?"

Hermione closed her eyes again and felt the bed dip as Ginny sat down beside her.

"Everything," she murmured. She managed to open her eyes again. Ginny looked fuzzy to her. "How many?" she asked.

Ginny knew immediately what she meant, and hesitated. Hermione licked her lips, opened her mouth again.

"How-"

"Five," Ginny said softly, interrupting her. "Two more escaped when the walls started to fall in. Harry found the oldest one still alive last night too, but he had too much smoke damage to his lungs. We couldn't save him, and he passed on early this morning."

"Jonah," Hermione breathed.

"Yes, him," Ginny said. She held Hermione's good hand, though even it was swaddled in bandages and salve. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. Harry and the others are handling all the paperwork and they're fixing it with your muggle insurance as well. So you don't have to worry about the business aspect, I guess. And they're nearly done cleaning things away. You'll be able to put up a new barn in no time-"

"Gin-" Hermione gave her head a small shake. That seemed manageable.

Ginny shut up, understanding. It was too much to take in just then. Hermione didn't want to think about the damages, the paperwork, the reality of rebuilding. Ginny bit her lip.

"Right. Sorry. Oh, Lucius woke up."

Hermione's eyes widened. Hell. That hurt. She shut them again.

"Up," she said and began struggling. Ginny pursed her lips and pressed Hermione back down gently.

"You're in no condition. Stay right where you-"

"It's my shoulder, not my legs," Hermione rasped. "Help me up, damn it-"

There was a sigh and then Hermione was sitting up, leaning heavily on Ginny. A knock came on the door and it opened slightly. The medi-witch stuck her head inside.

"The elder Mister Malfoy wants to speak with Miss Granger," she said in a quiet voice and Hermione forced her eyes open again, gave Ginny a sideways look of triumph.

"Ha," she croaked. Ginny frowned, but helped her stand anyway and the med-witch opened the door wide for them as they passed through.

* * *

It took them ten minutes to make it up the stairs, even with the medi-witch's help, and once they reached the top Hermione had to stop and catch her breath. Draco opened the door of the bedroom and stood there, staring at the unlikely trio. Well, staring at Hermione.

"You look like hell," he said before he could stop himself, and then he was out of the doorway and holding her too him, pushing Ginny and the medi-witch away. Hermione wished she could relax against him, but her shoulder- she tried to say as much and Draco practically dropped her in his haste to stop causing her pain.

"Thanks," she managed to respond and he shrugged and then watched as the medi-witch whisked her into the bedroom. Ginny gave him a strange glance.

"Is he alright?" she asked.

"I don't know," Draco replied. "Is _she_ alright?"

Ginny snorted softly. "Fair enough."

The medi-witch came back outside and pulled the door to. "They wanted to speak privately, but I'll stay right here. I'll know if either needs anything."

"Thank you," Ginny and Draco murmured at the same time. Ginny looked at him. "Well, are you hungry?" she asked him.

He shrugged again, looked longingly at the closed door. The two people he cared most for in this world were seated inside, saying god only knew what. He looked back at Ginny.

"I need to talk to Potter, if he's still here."

Ginny smiled sadly. "Where else would he be?" She gestured to the stairs. "I'll take you to him. Come on."

Inside the bedroom, Hermione sat beside Lucius' still form and gripped his hand gingerly. Her own still ached from the healing burns- she could imagine well how his must feel. He'd gone back inside long after the structure should have been abandoned. He'd gone back inside for her. To save those damned kittens. She felt like an idiot and sniffled some, wiping her fingers under her nose.

Her snot was still coming out black. She imagined it would for at least a week. Lucius opened his eyes again and looked at her.

"We only lost one of the kittens," she informed him. She'd checked them last night, before all the bustle of Harry's team had begun. "Thank you. It was stupid of me-"

"I wanted to," he breathed. "My choice."

"Your lungs- how are they-"

"Hermione," he said seriously and she shut up. "Neither of us has the luxury of long speeches right now, but you must allow me to try and make mine." He took a shuddering breath and spoke again. "Thank you for taking us in, Hermione. You have been so good- far too good- to us. We haven't deserved it and I wish we could make it up to you. Make this up to you. But we don't have the time for it, and I'm afraid that what happens now is probably for the best."

Her heart. There was something wrong with it, she was certain, otherwise it wouldn't be beating in that irregular manner. She gave her head a small shake, tried to crack a smile. Her cheeks burned with the effort.

"You're distraught- tired. We need a few days, is all, some rest-"

"I don't have a few days, Hermione," Lucius murmured. "But I am concerned about Draco."

"Draco? He's worried for you, Lucius. I know he is," she croaked. "So please, you can't leave yet. Please." The tears were coming faster, now. This was too sudden. They'd just survived the barn fire and she'd lost so many creatures. And now Lucius and Draco? It was too soon. "Just a few more days. We can stick with the original plan. You can't possibly be moved yet."

Lucius smiled at her wearily, weakly. He squeezed her fingers gently.

"Hermione. You know what I mean."

"Yes," she breathed. "I know you mean to leave me here, all alone. I know you mean to go on to your new lives. Where you won't have to worry about barn fires and milking cows and stupid reruns on the telly-"

Lucius' didn't blink, didn't look away. He squeezed her hand again as his eyes roamed over her face, as if memorizing it.

"Narcissa would be happy, at least," he murmured to himself. Hermione's eyes widened, more tears spilled out as a horrible thought dawned on her.

"Oh, no, Lucius…"

"Yes," he responded simply, air wheezing in and out.

"No. Just a few more days. You'll be right as rain."

"Hermione."

"No," she ground out. "_No_."

Lucius tried to speak again and broke into a coughing fit instead, and in an instant the door was open and the medi-witch was there, taking over, breaking the moment. Hermione felt desolate as she sat uselessly in the chair, watching pain contort Lucius' face as he attempted to breath.

Desolate, and utterly helpless.

* * *

Harry eyed Draco for a split second, then pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.

"Sit," he told the other man. Draco sat. "Now, start over."

"I just told you, Potter."

"Your father is extremely ill, Draco. Hermione is just as bad. And you honestly want to discuss your leaving now?"

"It's the best time. Maybe the only time. Besides," he added, "we did this to her."

"Zabini did this to her," Harry replied, "and it's not your fault."

"If we hadn't been here-"

"If you hadn't been here Hermione would have drifted along and probably killed herself in another five years."

Draco looked away. "We did this."

"Can't you just call it even?"

Draco decided to do worse. He decided to call it in.

"You said you'd support whatever decision I made," he said softly. "You promised. And I can't stay."

"And what do you plan on telling Hermione?"

"She doesn't need to know everything," he responded, shrugging. "She knows all the bits that count, anyhow."

"Does she?" Harry looked at him keenly, leaned over the table. "Damn it, Draco, I said I'd support you and so I will. But you'd better be absolutely certain. Because once you're out of her life, that's it. There's no coming back and hurting her even more. No second chances."

Draco turned his silvery eyes on Harry and blinked slowly. They were full of immeasurable sadness.

"This was my second chance, Potter," he said and Harry drew back, frowning. Then he held out his hand and Draco took it, shook it weakly.

Harry held on a moment longer than necessary and returned Draco's curious gaze with penetrating equanimity. He'd support him, but he didn't have to like it, Harry was saying, and the distinction was one that did not escape Draco's notice.

* * *

Ginny moved into the guest room at the farmhouse, promising Harry she would be back at his flat as soon as Hermione was well. He shook his head, told her he understood and didn't mind. He couldn't stay away from work much longer, anyhow. There was a body to dispose of and paperwork to file and a particular request to take care of- all those things would keep him busy. But he promised Malfoy he would return in two days to finalize things. In the meantime, as Hermione recuperated and Draco moped about the house, alternately sitting at either sickbed, a steady stream of witches and wizards made their way in and out of the upstairs bedroom.

Hermione wasn't sure what was going on up there, other than Lucius must be making his preparations. She and Draco didn't really talk about it much. And when he did sit at her side and hold her hand, he looked so sad she could barely stand to see him, let alone speak. Besides, she had things to take care of on her end as well. Even though Harry's people had taken care of a great deal of the aftermath for her, there were still claims to sign and officers to speak with and orders to give about where she wanted her horses buried.

Ginny was her only real comfort, as she felt Draco pulling away. But what could she do?

The desolation swept on.

Harry came back, as he said he would, and there was a final rush of activity in the upstairs bedroom. Draco left her side and Hermione didn't see anyone except Ginny, until the medi-witch arrived downstairs and informed Hermione that Lucius wanted to see her again.

Somehow she gathered herself enough to make it up the stairs, and sit in the chair again.

Lucius looked terrible and she told him so, but there was no sting to her words. Besides, his cheeks had a flush of pink in them. He almost looked as though he was getting better, but she recognized it for what it was- that false health, that last rush of nervous energy before life was stolen away.

It would happen soon. But she didn't tell him that part.

She thought he probably already knew.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked. Her voice was better. His was still sore, wheezing.

"A last look," he murmured, a smile tilting his mouth. She felt the tears come and swallowed them down.

"I wish you wouldn't say that," she murmured. "Draco-"

"Draco and I have spoken," he murmured and squeezed her hand. His eyes bore into her as if he was trying to impress something upon her. Something he couldn't say.

"I know," she replied helplessly. "But this isn't it. I refuse-"

"It's not your choice," he whispered. "And I'm sorry for that."

"I'm better," she tried again. "I'd bring you back, Lucius. In fact, I'll nurse you myself, damn it. You can't just-"

"Hermione," he said, "no. I know you would, but I don't want you to. You must let me go."

Again, those eyes, staring at her…she looked away, wiped at her cheeks- still raw from the fire. The ruddy color made her remaining scars stand out. Some would never fade entirely, she knew, but she looked more herself than she ever had in the last eight years.

"Lucius…"

"Hermione," he said again, "I need you to know something, to prepare yourself. Malfoy Manor, and our fortunes- they are being signed over to you."

"What?"

"I have no use for them anymore. Neither will Draco. He understands. They are to be yours, to do with as you wish. Since we cannot stay-"

"My god!" she exclaimed. "You men and your paltry, earthly gifts! As if I care about any of that!" she finished with a harsh sob and bent over his hand, pressing her forehead to it, clenching her teeth against the tears.

Lucius seemed on the verge of saying something else, but he finally pressed his lips together and exhaled.

"I do believe you care for me, Hermione," he murmured.

She snorted and lifted her head, wiped her face again.

"What sort of goodbye is that?" she wept.

"The best sort," he replied, voice soft as his eyes swept over her face again. "The sort that's not a goodbye."

She stood up, pressed her lips to his forehead, brushed some hair from his face. She was trembling.

"Send Draco in," Lucius said, closing his eyes as she stood back and squeezed his hand tenderly. "Please."

"Alright," she responded quietly. "But this isn't over, Lucius. I'll see you in the morning."

His eyes remained closed and he merely smiled slightly. Then she walked from the room and met Draco at the top of the stairs. Ginny put an arm about her shoulder to help her down and she paused, looked to Draco.

"He wants to see you," she said. He nodded his thanks and one hand reached out as if to touch her tear stained cheek, but he drew away at the last second and turned to the open door. The medi-witch barely blinked, remaining on guard on a chair just outside. The door swung closed and Hermione only heard a solemn, "Dad?" before Ginny was hustling her down the stairs and towards the kitchen, in search of tea and tissues.

* * *

Another day passed.

Lucius didn't open his eyes again.

And desolation couldn't even begin to cover it.

* * *

**AN: Sometimes there's nothing to say. **


	48. Pull Me Down Hard

**Don't own any of this drivel, everything belongs to J.K. and I don't make any money off this fic.**

**AN: I can hear you all trembling in your shoes and your multitude of pitiful cries from way over on this side of the internet. Cut it out, whiny bitches. Or I _will_ consider making a coat of your skins. So suck it up.**

**Oh, and to a certain group of someones who received my personal reassurances…I don't break my promises, generally, and I find lying about fan fiction to be tiresome. I have much better things to lie about. Chits.**

* * *

Hermione went to the funeral. It was closed casket, on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. She, Harry, and Ginny were the only ones there, along with an unusually somber Sirius who stood in the background. Draco wasn't allowed to attend, Harry had told her, his face grim; and Draco was suspiciously quiet and withdrawn the entire day. Even when Hermione returned, leaning heavily on Ginny's arm, he didn't say a word.

Barely looked at her, in fact, although he spoke to Harry often enough, in hushed murmurs that stopped as soon as she came by.

Hermione wondered if she'd ever had a heart in the first place, since whatever it was beating in her chest felt pulverized and run through a meat grinder. As if there was nothing there at all.

Her hands felt too weak to hold the tea cup and it clattered back into its saucer noisily, tea sloshing over the sides. Ginny turned around, saw the look on her face.

"Hermione-"

"Don't," Hermione muttered, wiping her cheeks first, then the spill, with her paper napkin. "Just…there's nothing to say, is there?"

"Oh, please don't see it that way, Hermione. I know how it is. I do."

Hermione relaxed some, let Ginny put her arms about her shoulders- the one which was finally mending aching only a little.

"I know you do. I'm sorry, Ginny. I'm just so…it's all so much. I can't believe it- just five days ago he was alive and we were arguing and now this has happened-" She sobbed onto Ginny's shoulder, held her friend tightly. Ginny rocked her gently and shed a few tears, herself.

It pained her no end to see Hermione this way again. It wasn't like when Ron had died, of course, but still. She'd cared for Lucius and she loved Draco and now, upon losing one, she was losing the other.

"Hermione, I won't leave, alright? I'll stay here as long as you need me. Or you could come back to the city with me, or Mum and Dad would love to have you-"

"No," Hermione murmured, shaking her head. "I have to stay here. But you don't need to stay, Gin. I know you miss Harry. You should go back with him when he leaves tonight. Please. I insist."

"Hermione, you're in no state-"

"I have Draco, don't I? Oh, Gin, I appreciate all you've done the last few days, but I…need some time. Just to myself. I have things to keep me busy, anyhow. The horses are in that temporary barn and I want to read the book on building magic that George so kindly sent…"

Ginny pulled away, looked her friend over.

"I really-"

"Please, Ginny. I'll be alright. I'm not going to do anything stupid, I promise. You know me better. Besides, Draco and I…we need to talk. We have for days, but with Lucius I don't think either of us felt we could…"

Ginny took a deep breath, pressed her lips together. She hugged Hermione again.

"If you insist," she finally said. "But I'm staying until Harry leaves."

A voice from the doorway intruded on the moment.

"Which is going to be sooner than I anticipated," Harry said and the two women turned to face him.

"Harry-"

"I'm sorry Ginny, Hermione. I just spoke to Draco and it turns out there are some things I really need to deal with today."

Draco walked into the kitchen behind him, eyes down, face averted as he made his way to the tea kettle. Hermione's eyes followed him before she looked to Harry again. Harry glanced away. Hermione suddenly couldn't breathe and she clutched Ginny's shoulders tightly. Ginny looked at her with alarm and stared up at Harry.

"What? What is it?"

Hermione's lips formed the word and Ginny frowned.

"Draco? Harry, what is going on-"

"What's going on," came the subject's cool voice, "is that I'm leaving. In two days. That's what Potter has to take care of. The details of my escape."

Ginny didn't even bother looking at him, just kept her arms around Hermione.

"Harry, is that true? Is that what you two have been talking about in your quiet little conferences?"

"Ginny…"

"Even before Lucius was dead?" she went on. "And now he's barely cold in the ground and you're already planning on leaving the witch who saved your bloody life?"

Draco felt like he'd taken a shot to the gut, but he knew he had to keep up the pretense, or he'd never make it through the next two days. So he pasted on his best sneer.

"But she didn't save my father's life, did she?"

Hermione gasped and pressed her face into Ginny's shoulder. Her own shoulders started to shake and Ginny's face drained of color.

"You son of a bitch," she muttered, twisting her head to see him. "How dare you-"

"This isn't your concern, Ginny Weasley," Draco hissed at her. "Hermione knew what we planned weeks ago. She agreed to it, encouraged it. So pardon me if my father not being here any longer doesn't give me much of a reason to stay."

"Oh my god," Ginny growled. "You know what? She's better off. Is there any way you can speed up the bloody process?"

Draco stared at her a full minute, his face pinched in anger- or anguish, before he set his cup down with a bang and then stalked from the kitchen. They heard the back door slam shut a second later and Hermione burrowed further against Ginny, still weeping. Ginny glared up at Harry.

"How can you do this to her?"

Harry looked more sorry than he could ever say.

"It's his choice, Ginny. I promised I would help him. And if he doesn't want to stay, do you really want him to stick around?"

Ginny's face crumpled and she buried it in Hermione's hair. Hermione chose that moment to speak.

"I'm still here, you two," she murmured. "I can hear everything you're saying."

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry said softly. "I- will you be alright here? Since I assume Ginny doesn't want to return with me?"

Hermione pulled away, shook her head and wiped her cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

"Ginny," she said to her friend, "go home with Harry. And Harry, thank you for all your help this week. I…respect…Draco's decision."

Although she could barely speak the word, it was that much of a lie. Ginny protested some more and Harry looked extremely sorry _and_ guilty, although it wasn't like Draco's leaving was really his fault. He was just helping out a little. Hermione smiled bravely at them both, insisted on sending them away. Saw them off on the front steps, walked down the drive with them, watched them apparate away together.

She stood at the spot for a long time after that, just staring into space, watching the occasional car blow past in the lane.

She was trying desperately to steel herself for returning to the house. She had a feeling Draco would be unbearable, though it wasn't her fault, or even his. He was just more of a stray than ever, with his father's death and the entitling away of the Malfoy estate.

His father's death…she still couldn't quite believe it, as though the events from five days ago were just another nightmare she could wake from; and find Draco holding her, loving her, his father alive and smiling; and the three of them surrounded by flowering shrubs and kittens and ponies-

She felt a smirk cross her lips, felt it bubble up into a hysterical giggle. Desperate for control, she leaned on the fence post and let the laughter run its course until that awful grief gripped her heart again.

How could this be true, how could it be happening? What sorts of awful things had she done in a past life to warrant all this sorrow?

A deep sigh welled from her throat and she clung to the fence, suddenly drained. She couldn't stand out here all night just to avoid him. Besides, he would probably do a fine job of that all on his own. Slowly, one hand clutching the fence, she made her way back up the drive as storm clouds gathered overhead.

* * *

They didn't speak the rest of the evening, or the next day, even though time was growing far too short. It was almost strange, how they never seemed to be doing the same thing at the same time, but Hermione kept trying despite his sneaky skills. Rather, she would spot Draco leaving a room just as she was entering it and call out to him, but he would be gone before she could blink. And Draco- he was so attuned to her presence, her scent, that he didn't even have to look to know when she was entering the same space as him. Of course, it was extremely difficult to force himself away from her when all he wanted to do was run to her, to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to have her comfort him…but he managed. He managed by telling himself it was for the best, that she didn't need him, even if she did fancy herself in love with him now. Look at what he'd brought her- nothing but grief. And his own father…

He tore his eyes from the pages of the book on his lap to find her standing right in front of him.

Hell. He's been thinking about her so hard he hadn't even noticed- he stood up.

"I was just leaving," he began and she reached out, touched him. He want to grab her hand and drag her to him at that touch, but instead he sat back down. Her hand fell away and she looked about helplessly, rubbed at her face some, and finally stepped back to sit in the chair opposite him.

"That's the trouble, isn't it?" she asked and her voice sounded hollow. His heart ached more than usual.

This was why he had to avoid her. Why he couldn't be in the same room as her. He felt entirely too much…

"Draco," she murmured. "Please, talk to me." A wild smirk skittered across her lips as the irony of her plea was not lost on her. He exhaled, looked away. Closed the book in his hands.

"Talk about what," he said.

"I suppose you think there's nothing to say," she responded. Silence hung between them. He shifted in his seat.

"There's probably loads to say, I reckon," he said and she caught his eyes, those brown orbs full of pain and compassion.

"Draco, I'm so sorry about Lucius. I think I loved him too, as a friend, or an uncle. He was a good man. I don't have much family," she went on, "but he was something like it."

Draco felt his heart turn over in his chest. "I know you felt that way, Hermione. And I'm sorry for the things I said about you and him, before…" The fire, ran the rest of the sentence.

"We never meant to," she said. He caught her eyes that time and she again had the uncanny feeling that he was trying to impress something upon her, the same as Lucius had.

"I know," he replied. "But we never meant to, either, did we? Could it truly have been anybody, Hermione? Not just us?"

She was quiet for a minute and he could see her struggling against tears. She won.

She was braver than he was, already, and he was envious.

"I think the possibility always exists for it to be anybody," she returned slowly, thoughtfully. Kindly. "But it's you, now. And has been."

His heart beat fast and she went on.

"…and will likely continue to be-"

He cut her off, he had to.

"You can't know that," he said. "Not as long as I'm here."

"Then how do you know the same about me?" she asked.

He closed his eyes. It was the only way he could get the next sentence out.

"You're right," he said. "I don't."

Hermione's struggle against the tears grew more difficult, but she prevailed again and he opened his eyes in time to see her face hardening some, growing cold. He felt sick.

"But does it matter, either way?" he pressed on. "We knew I was leaving. That's why you made me promise-"

"What if I don't care about that promise anymore?" she said, no longer looking at him. "What would you do-"

"Hermione," he replied, voice shaking, "I'm leaving. Tomorrow, in fact. I'm just waiting for Potter's final call tonight and in the morning-"

"It has to be this way, doesn't it?" she asked of no one in particular. Draco answered her anyway.

"It's for the best," he responded and Hermione snapped.

"For whose best?" she cried, finally angry- really, truly angry- for the first time in days. "Your father said the same blasted thing, and he's fucking dead! He wouldn't even try-"

"Don't blame him," Draco pleaded, unwilling to fire back. Let her have her anger, her bitterness. If it kept her going, more the better. If hating him did for her, then he was happy to help. But he couldn't bear to drive anymore cruelty into her. He could see his inaction was cruelty enough.

If things had been different, it might have given him a thrill of hope to know that. Now it only made him sad.

"When he gave up? When he took that bloody one-way ticket out of here without even considering you-"

"We talked about it, Hermione, and the extent of his injuries-"

"I could've saved him," she ended fiercely, glaring at him and then sitting back in her chair, crossing her trembling arms and biting her lip.

Draco crossed his arms as well, to keep himself from reaching out to her. Maybe Ginny was right. Maybe he was being selfish, unfair. Hermione turned to him again.

"You might have," he corrected her gently and she closed her eyes.

"I hate this," she whispered and he grit his teeth. Stop looking at her, he told himself. You'll make it worse.

"I do to," he admitted and his eyes flicked to her again. "But are you really saying you'd ask me to stay?"

After a long, quiet minute she shook her head. "But not because I don't care about you," she added, rising from the chair. She walked away and he thought she might leave it there until she paused in the doorway, turned her head.

"Because I do care," she finished. And then she left. He heard the back door open and close.

Draco stood up, unable to help himself, intent on following her. He couldn't play this game any longer. She'd just all but said the words, she'd confessed how she felt, and he was going to leave? All because it seemed like the best idea? Preposterous. He would go to her, find her, tell her how sorry he was for the charade, for pushing her away, for letting her think he didn't care-

The telephone rang insistently, startling him from his determined course; and he stopped in the middle of the hallway, poised to head for the door; but head turned, eyes on the noisy device.

That would be Potter, telling him things were ready. Telling him it was all a go. She'd be free of them soon, once and for all.

He turned his head slowly and looked towards the door again and his face fell. Then, reluctantly, he jogged back to the phone and lifted it from its cradle, aware that with the action, his opportunities for something- _anything_ else- had dwindled to none at all.

* * *

It was nearing midnight and Draco still couldn't sleep. He was tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable, but it was incredibly difficult when he was lying across from where his father had slept peacefully for weeks.

He was used to someone else being in the room.

And of course, he was dreading the morning hour, meeting Potter at dawn, catching a train to god knows where, leaving Hermione forever.

Forever. It was a bleeding scary word, that, but somehow it hadn't seemed so bad two weeks ago, when he'd had a willing witch in his arms and his father had his health. Now he was facing things alone and in the humid evening air he found it impossible to relax. Not that he hadn't faced things alone before, but he'd gotten so used to her being there, helping him. How could he live without that? It was enough to make him want to claw his eyes out, the irony of it all. That he'd gone years relying on no one but himself and now, faced with the same situation, he could hardly stand it.

Then there was the fact that Hermione had begun crying just as he thought he might be dropping off to sleep. He'd nearly made up his mind to go downstairs when it had stopped abruptly and he'd heard the creak of old floorboards. She'd probably gone into the kitchen, no doubt. At any rate, it was the first night he hadn't gone to her when he'd heard those pitiful sounds and he was certain his heart had shriveled some from the meanness of staying away.

He rolled onto his back, stared up at the dark ceiling. A cool breeze broke the wilting humidity and he knew it would likely rain again tomorrow. Wasn't that good luck, in some parts of England? No, that was good luck at a wedding. And what he was doing tomorrow was as far from a wedding as one could possibly get.

The crying began once more and he saw her quite clearly in his mind, hunched over the counter or the kitchen table, letting her tea get cold, wrapping her arms about herself and wishing for someone to hold her…

With a soft swear he tore his cover off and practically sprang from the bed before throwing his door open and racing down the stairs as fast as he dared.

She wasn't crying anymore by the time he opened the door of the kitchen and stepped inside. She'd gone quite still, standing at the counter, one hand on a mug and the other holding a shawl about her shoulders. He could see the bruising on her still healing shoulder, saw the bright red scar from the horse's hoof. It just brought home to him how terrible he felt over everything. How this was supposed to be best. And he hesitated.

She spoke first. "I heard you on the stairs."

Yes, she would have. He'd thundered down them in his need to see her, hold her- something pulled at him painfully, but it was nothing new.

"Do you want some tea?" she asked. He saw her give a small sigh, push an already prepared mug down the counter towards him.

He took the invitation. It was better than nothing. And still he was silent. He couldn't think of what to say, where to begin. With an apology? A confession? She broke the silence for him.

"Draco, I don't want you leaving…like this. I understand if you have to go, but I want…I want…" She paused, floundering for the courage to finish the sentence. He set his mug down again, approached her slowly. She turned to face him.

"I want one last happy memory," she explained and he swallowed, reached out and ran a hand over her shoulder. She didn't flinch away.

"Are you sure?" he breathed and saw her nod once. It was all he needed to buoy his own courage, and he drew nearer, sliding his hand around her back, wrapping his other arm around her waist and pulling her to him. She gave a small gasp as she thrilled at the contact they hadn't shared in days- his hard body pressed to her softer one; and she could feel him respond, felt his heartbeat speed up simply from holding her.

He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply, then began layering a series of sweet kisses along her forehead, her temple, her eyes, her cheeks…mouth… She gave a moan and he held her tighter.

"Alright, Hermione," he finally murmured, pulling away slightly and gazing down at her. "One last memory. But I won't make it in the middle of the kitchen."

She didn't bat an eyelash, clearly determined to keep the ghosts away for the whole of one night- their last night.

"Fine, Draco," she whispered up at him before reaching a hand up and tugging his head down to hers for another sweet, brief kiss. "Then take me to bed."

It was all the permission he needed, and a moment later they were passing from the now darkened kitchen and down the hall to her room, where the door closed upon them with an easy click; and then they were falling to one another in earnest, with eager lips and hands, and making certain of two things, at least.

One, that Hermione would never forget Draco Malfoy, or how much she'd loved him; and two, that her heart would forever be at odds with itself- because as long as she remembered Draco she could never be alone…yet as long as he left, as he seemed determined to do, she felt sure she would be lonely the rest of her days.

And in his arms, in the dark, she felt something broken inside her mend again, just as something that was mended broke. She hid her wretchedness with lengthy sighs of desire and cries of ecstasy, but she was certain that he could feel it too- the trembling in her arms as she clung to him, the breaking of her heart as she climaxed around him. But he didn't say a word, just continued to place soft kisses upon her face, put his hand along her cheek…and take his time, so that it was nearly four in the morning when Hermione finally curled against him, sated and weary.

Draco pulled her close and tucked her head beneath his chin, feeling the pleasant sensation of her breath on his bare skin, her hair spilling over his chest and arms. There were hundreds of things he wanted to say in those seconds between satisfaction and sleep, but he kept his lips closed, pressed them to her forehead instead, and continued to hold her as she drifted to something other than nightmares.

Outside, a fine mist began and turned to a steady drizzle; and eventually, the sound of rain pattering from the leaves of bushes and trees and dripping along the eaves lulled Draco to his own slumber.

* * *

It was still raining when Hermione woke three hours later to find Draco gone.

* * *

Draco stepped off the muggle bus and thanked the driver for pointing him in the right direction before heading off down the small, dead-end lane. The driver merely shook his head and pulled the doors closed, driving away. He couldn't understand it. The fellow had spoken with a British accent, but then acted all wonky, like a bloody tourist. Of course, it was an English accent. It was only the duffel over Draco's shoulder that kept the others on the bus from making passing remarks about him, after all.

Not that he hadn't noticed they'd been staring at him a lot. He'd noticed, alright. He'd just decided he had better things to do than get after them, like figure his way around- although Hermione's muggle instruction (and here his heart contracted painfully) had helped a great deal. And here he was, in Scotland- a country he'd been to plenty of times before, after all, though never quite in this manner- ready to set foot into what looked like a right miserable little cottage.

But it was the best Potter said he could do at such short notice, since the circumstances of his escape to penury had changed. With a steeling breath, Draco put a hand to the door and knocked before reaching for the handle and pushing it open. He was met by a familiar face almost immediately and he couldn't stop the leap of his heart as he walked over to the other man, who was sitting in a chair, legs covered with a blanket. There was a kitten curled on his lap, sleeping, and the man was petting it gently. Draco dropped his duffel and knelt down to eye level, taking the man's other hand and sharing a long look with him. Then he laid his head against his legs and closed his eyes. The man transferred his hand from the kitten to Draco's head and started to stroke his hair reassuringly.

"It's over, then?" he asked in a weak voice.

Draco managed a nod and felt a few tears escape his eyes.

"Yeah, Dad," he murmured. "It's over."

The irony of his words didn't escape him, but it also didn't change anything. He was still kneeling on the floor, head in his father's lap, crying like he was five years old.

Everything was over, and yet the endless road of heartbreak and recovery was only just beginning.

* * *

**AN: Hahahahaha! PSYCH. **

**And yeah, I'm really pleased with myself. XD A few chapters left, my friends! You ready for the happy ending? I AM. **


	49. Something Is Lost

**I don't own any of this, STILL, and J.K. holds the rights (along with some other people), and I don't make any money off this fic.**

**AN: Maybe two or three chapters left? Meh. Welcome to the land of forced plot devices that will speed us towards happy endings and rainbows and fairy dust.**

**Also, the seconding round for the Dramione Awards over on LJ is drawing to a close, so if you haven't already voted, get over there and vote! The Better Claim was nominated and I'd love to make it to finals. :)**

* * *

Hermione cried for days. She cried while taking showers, while waking up, while feeding the horses and collecting eggs, while making tea. She cried until she thought she probably wouldn't ever be able to cry again, then cried some more.

And finally, one day she woke up and wasn't crying. Instead, she gazed out her front windows into the yard and sat up slowly to greet the morning sun. Then she swung her legs out of bed, put her feet firmly on the floor, and told herself that she was done with that part of it.

She had things to see to, after all, details to take care of. A barn to rebuild, magic to practice, accounts to oversee. She had to decide what to do with the Malfoys' estate; and what to do about her horses and therapy program. She had to learn how to run a farm all by herself again- and it would take some getting used to. After all, she'd grown accustomed to the Malfoys' help, as well as their faces.

So, with a rueful smile on her face, she decided it was time to move on, even if her heart would never beat the same way without him near. She wasn't a girl of eighteen anymore, and she had seen incredible horrors, endured the most terrible things. She could handle this. Draco, at least, was not dead, even if his father was, and that was something she could take comfort from, and did. She clung to the thought as if it were a lifeline and her only hope that one day things would be different. One day she would wake up and rather than cry, or feel that empty space in her chest, she would feel contentment once more. Even though he was never coming back. He was alive, and that would have to be enough.

And so it was.

* * *

Weeks passed, and Ginny spent a great deal of time at the farm, helping with paperwork and the creatures and in turn learning a bit about farm management and rebuilding. Hermione relied on her heavily, though the words never crossed their lips. Ginny was changing, Hermione could see that- her renewed relationship with Harry was good for her, and had brought a smile to her face that Hermione had worried once might be lost forever. Ginny often caught Hermione looking at her, contemplating her with those wise, dark eyes that seemed to her so jaded now; and she though she knew Hermione was finally in her element again- taking charge, running things, bossing workers and horses about; she felt sure there was something vital missing behind it all.

For instance, Ginny thought Hermione was looking positively droopy. Well, perhaps that wasn't the word for it. She was actually looking fairly healthy, all things considered, though Ginny wasn't sure if it was real or aftereffects of the fire. The rosy glow of her cheeks, for example, could just be her still healing skin, the flush of a light fever. The silky curl of her hair could simply be a result of the extra potions she'd been forced to take to recuperate. The supple movement of her body…well, Ginny didn't have one for that. But she knew something was wrong, regardless of how well Hermione looked. It was more than her physical appearance, though she was closer to her old self than Ginny could recall seeing her. It was simply her…aura. If that was the right word. She was smiling and going through all the right motions, as if she was trying to convince more than the outside world that she was alright. As if she was trying to convince herself.

And there was no other word that came to Ginny's mind other than droopy. Like fresh cut flowers that bravely bloomed, but looked slightly wilted about the edges anyhow. As if they know their beauty won't last.

Ginny felt completely morbid thinking about it. There she was, sitting at her best friend's kitchen table, trying to distract her, comfort her, when all she could think of was-

"Hermione? Are you ok?" she asked suddenly. Hermione paused in the midst of her sentence and looked at Ginny strangely.

"I'm fine, Gin. Why? You did ask me that already, you know," she teased and Ginny waved a hand.

"No, I mean, are you really ok?"

"Oh." Hermione sat back. "I see."

Ginny leaned forward. "I don't want to pry Hermione, that's not what I'm here for, but we've been friends so long now and we don't have any secrets. I have to know, Hermione, how you really are."

"Do I look unwell?" Hermione replied primly. Ginny recognized the tight look upon her friend's face, but forged ahead anyhow.

"No, actually," she said. "You look amazingly well, I think. It's nice to see you looking so…"

"Alive? Relieved? Not heartbroken?" Hermione supplied in a wry tone. Ginny flushed.

"Hermione-"

"Ginny, I appreciate the concern, and no, we don't have secrets. So yes, I was in love with Draco and yes, he left anyway, and yes, there are days when I have no idea what I'll do with myself. But I'm alive and I know he is, out there somewhere, and it comforts me…" Her voice trailed off. "And besides, there's nothing I can do about it. So you see? I'm keeping busy and trying to look on the bright side."

"There's a bright side to all this?" Ginny said dryly and Hermione rolled her eyes and looked away. Far, far away.

"There is," she murmured. "For nearly a month I was loved, and loved someone in return. Maybe even two someones, who knows? The feelings fade so quickly, don't they?" she said, though there was no conviction behind the words and both women knew it was a lie. The feelings would never fade, for Hermione. She went on.

"But I did that. I braved it. And he left knowing how I felt, too. I can't-" and her breath caught in her throat momentarily, "-_regret_ anything. Or I'll go crazy," she finished softly.

Ginny eyed her sadly and then reached across to her, putting a hand over hers, holding it.

"That's all I need to know. There. I won't ask about it anymore."

"Thanks," Hermione replied, coming back to herself. "Thank you. And yes, I should talk about it more. I guess I just…it's easier not to, at the moment."

"I understand," Ginny said. There was silence for a moment and then Hermione cleared her throat.

"So, I've been meaning to ask you, how are you enjoying the little one?"

Ginny practically spit her tea out. "Little one?"

Hermione looked at her face and then burst out laughing a minute later. "Ginny, I didn't mean- wait, why did you think…?" Her laughter died swiftly. She had to force the question out. "Are you…starting a family?"

Ginny looked ashamed. "No, no. We aren't yet. We have, though, er…agreed I should move in. Leave my flat entirely. And there may have been some talk of marriage," she said quietly.

"Oh, Ginny, that's wonderful, really. And are you pleased?"

"I am," Ginny murmured and tried to sip her tea again, face matching her hair. Hermione smiled some and patted her on the shoulder.

"Good for you. If you're happy, then I'm thrilled. You and Harry belong together."

Ginny blushed even more and Hermione smiled indulgently, though her eyes were a bit wistful.

"Now, what I really meant was, how do you like your kitten, and is he doing alright?"

Ginny was blank. "Pardon?"

"Your kitten, Ginny. I noticed that I couldn't find one a few weeks ago, right after…well, I couldn't find one and so I asked Harry. He said he'd taken one. And since you're living with him- I was under the impression he'd meant him for you. Is he not there any more? Did Harry take him to the Burrow?"

Ginny began to look confused, in addition to the blankness.

"Hermione, Harry never said anything to me about one. Perhaps he gave him up to someone else? I'll ask him."

Hermione tried to hide her concern and failed miserably. "Would you?" she asked. "It's just that Lucius, well. You know. I want to know the little one is in a good home. I'd always meant Draco to take one, but then with the business with his father…"

"It never happened. I understand, Hermione. And I'll ask Harry about the kitten."

And with that, the conversation turned to safer topics- the horses, the rebuild, the therapy program. But suspicion had wormed its way into Ginny's mind, while Hermione continued to look bravely cheerful as ever.

Ginny asked Harry that very night about the kitten. He didn't give a very satisfactory answer and she pinned him with her best Molly Weasley stare until he left the room. She sighed and crossed her arms. Clearly, getting the truth from him would not be easy.

But she had a feeling it was a truth worth knowing, and one that Hermione probably deserved to hear.

* * *

Two days later, as she stood on Hermione's front step, breathless and knocking on her door, she discovered something that she thought might help her get that truth. Hermione ran up to the front door, unlatched it, and promptly turned away and rushed through her bedroom to the loo. Concerned- rather, scared out of her wits, Ginny followed quickly and was in time to catch Hermione's hair up and hold it back as she was sick into the toilet.

She soothed her, rubbed a hand over her back, and held a towel out for her to wipe her face. Hermione sat back minutes later, after flushing the toilet, a light sheen over her still rosy cheeks.

"Hermione, what's this?" Ginny asked. Hermione shook her head and seemed to recover some.

"Oh, just the last day or so. I think it may be the flu," she admitted. Ginny's brow wrinkled.

"Hermione, you're never around anyone from whom you could catch the flu. Oh, dear, I hope it isn't side effects from your injuries. How is your shoulder and that wound-" She followed her question by pulling Hermione's shirt away some and inspecting the areas. Nothing except some light bruising. Perfectly healed.

Next, Ginny put a hand to Hermione's forehead. "Anything else going on? Dizzy spells? Fever? Stomach upset all the time, or just before you vomit?"

Hermione batted Ginny's hand away and started to stand. Ginny helped her up.

"It's nothing, Gin, honest. I just feel a bit queasy and get sick and then I'm alright until next day sometime."

Ginny peered at her sharply as she walked her friend from her bedroom down the hall to the kitchen.

"Next day sometime? When next day? How often?"

"Just once or twice, usually- but I eat plenty later and I'm getting lots of fluids. I think it's just some food My stomach's taken a disliking too. Sometimes that happens later in life. You know that Ginny. It's perfectly normal, and with all the stress I've been under it doesn't surprise me."

Ginny continued to eye her suspiciously. "You're getting sick, but you're gaining weight," she said, giving Hermione a critical look. Hermione paled and set the tea kettle on.

"I noticed that," she admitted. "I hope it's not my thyroids, or something worse. Though I wouldn't be surprised, after all we went through-"

"You're pregnant," Ginny interrupted her, voice both certain and disbelieving.

Hermione started to shake her head. "Oh, no, Ginny…"

"You are." She started to tick the points off on her fingers. "Morning sickness- which can happen anytime, I'm told, weight gain, touchy stomach- and you've had some spotting, I'd bet anything."

"Ginny, it's just stress," Hermione reiterated, not denying Ginny's guess.

"You have to see a healer," Ginny declared.

"I already told you, it's nothing!" Hermione snapped and turned off the burner suddenly. She whirled about to face Ginny. "Is there a reason you're here right now, anyway?"

"Hermione, I'm only trying to help-"

"Damn it, Ginny, you know I can't have children. It's bloody impossible for me to be pregnant right now-"

"Your face healed," Ginny pointed out.

"Only partly," Hermione shot back. "As you can see, perfectly well. And besides that, Draco was neutered as part of the damned program, remember?"

"Magically, with warding," Ginny responded slowly. "So if the wards were removed…"

"He was warded every time we were together," Hermione retorted. "So if you're done humiliating me with this stupid conversation and impossibilities, I'd like you to tell me what in hell you're doing here, now."

Ginny stared at her sadly and Hermione spat, "Please," a second later.

Ginny decided she'd better back off and felt rather awful. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"I dare say you are," Hermione replied. She crossed her arms, waiting.

"I actually came to tell you that I…just applied for a job yesterday."

Hermione's face changed and she came forward, hugged Ginny cautiously.

"Oh, Gin, that's wonderful. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks," Ginny said. "Anyway, I didn't get it- it's for a ministry position, in Dad's department- but they offered me an internship instead. One that's likely to turn into a job. It's not much, really, and not what I expected I'd do, but…"

"It's something, Ginny," Hermione said and hugged her again, more genuinely. "More than what you've been doing- and of course it means I'll have to search for more help for the farm now. But this is best for you. I'm so happy for you. Does Harry know about the job?"

"Yeah, he's happy, because he thinks it means we can take lunch together."

Hermione grinned and Ginny giggled, softening the mood.

"Oh, Ginny, did you ask about-"

"The kitten? Yes. He said something vague about it going to a good home. I'm going to try and find out where. But in the meantime, I want you to promise me something, Hermione."

Hermione pulled away and looked resigned. "What's that?"

"You have to go to a healer, please. Even if it's just stress- I don't want to see you make yourself ill."

"Ok, ok," Hermione said. "But I'll only go to a proper doctor. This isn't a magical problem, I'm telling you."

"So long as you go see someone," Ginny murmured and gave her friend another hug, slightly mollified.

For the time being.

* * *

Three days later, Hermione sat in a doctor's office, righting her shirt. She felt…strange.

"You're sure?" she breathed.

The woman turned and smiled. When she saw the look of distress on Hermione's face, the smile faded quickly.

"Well…not one hundred percent, you understand. We'll run the blood test. But it looks that way. Nearly two months, I'd say. You seem surprised, Miss Doyle. Is there-"

"Oh, it's just…you see…" But what could Hermione say to the woman? Thanks for telling me that after eight years of smashed hopes and dreams I'm going to have some sort of freak miracle baby by a man who wasn't even supposed to be able to- No. No, absolutely not. She had to stop that train of thought right there, or she'd go as insane as she'd told Ginny she would. Or maybe she already was insane, and this was a hallucination. A delirium.

"Here's the list of prenatal vitamins you need to start taking," the woman was saying, going over what she'd written on a prescription pad. "And you should make sure you get plenty of rest and good, healthy food, of course. And exercise- what is it you do again?"

"Horses," Hermione murmured, completely in shock.

"Oh, well. You'll need to stay off those, I'd say. You'll want someone else to exercise them if they require riding. But other than that, you're set. I'll call you in a few days with the particulars of your test as well, but I expect it to line up with everything else. There you are. All clear, are you? Excellent. I'll see you again soon, I suspect!"

With the cheerful doctor waving goodbye and the receptionist billing her, Hermione managed to keep her head long enough to make it out to the Touareg; where she climbed into the driver's seat, shut the door, and promptly burst into tears. A few people walked past her car and headed into the same doctor's office, giving one another concerned glances after seeing her. She didn't notice any of them, and after a few minutes she decided she felt well enough to take a long drive.

Which was how she ended up parallel parked on a side street just a block away from the telephone booth into the ministry.

Her hands shook as she clenched the wheel of her SUV and she glared down at them, willing them to be still. After another moment of petrifying indecision, she grabbed her handbag and climbed from the vehicle, shut the door and clicked it locked, then started across the street. A few yards from the phone booth she paused and nearly turned back.

But no, she'd come this far- in fact, she either had gone mad, finally, or was really, truly on the road to recovery. Although right now, it felt more like a gangplank. The doctor's words ran through her head over and over, replaced only with visions of pale blond hair shining in bright sunlight and a weary, but strong hand holding her own.

The knowledge that this was it, that she truly was alone, really never would see him again, hit her right in her stomach and she practically doubled over from the ache. Catching herself against the wall of a building, she looked to the skies above, as if she would find an answer there.

Nothing, of course. Single parenthood it was.

Bloody, mother fucking-

"Excuse me, dear, are you alright?" an older woman passing by asked her. Hermione gathered herself and nodded, then thanked the woman and made some vague excuse. The woman tottered away and Hermione laughed softly at herself. This was what she'd come to. Freak miracle babies and old biddies.

Oh, and cats. And don't forget the broken heart and the therapy classes she couldn't give until the new barn was complete and the horses she couldn't ride since she was pregnant with the freak miracle baby.

Hermione laughed again, but it died quickly as she continued towards the phone booth. There was only one thing to do now and that was cry. Copiously. On Harry's or Ginny's shoulders. Either would do, really. And then she would scream a bit, and then go back to the farm and cry and scream some more.

She stepped into the booth and picked up the receiver, pushed the right buttons. A second later, she started to disappear below ground until there was nothing left above but a clearly unoccupied telephone booth.

* * *

"Miss Weasley and Miss Granger, Sir-" Harry's aide barely managed to get out before Ginny and Hermione were rushing through the door of his office. Harry took in Ginny's angry, blotchy face and Hermione's sorrowful, blotchy face, and wondered how many appointments he had that afternoon, and if he could cancel them all or not.

"Ginny- Hermione-" he said and waved two seats forward. "What is it? Hermione, you haven't been here since…are you alright? Can I get you something-"

"What you can get her is some information, Harry Potter," Ginny declared and Hermione wiped her cheeks and waved a hand.

"Ginny, this isn't the answer-"

"No, no, please. Tell me. What's the trouble?" Harry said, walking around the front of his desk and crouching before a weepy Hermione.

She looked into Harry's face as if she wasn't sure what to say and Ginny started to speak. Harry shot a look at her and she hushed quickly, but crossed her arms as if to say, try and tell me this isn't all your fault.

"Hermione," he said quietly, "what is it?"

"Oh, Harry," she mumbled. "I…have to know something. About Draco."

His face was immediately guarded, but he nodded at her to go on. A twinge of guilt surfaced in his chest and he prepared himself for what he'd thought she would eventually ask. Draco's information- where was he? That was what she'd want to know, surely, except he wasn't sure he could give it to her, without good reason. Sure, he'd settled things in case of an emergency, but Hermione- though she looked sorrowful enough now- had been doing well since Draco had left. Hadn't she?

She hesitated and he nodded at her again, anxious to know what the trouble was.

"Please," he said again. "Tell me."

"It's just that…you know that he and I…that we…"

Harry gave her a tiny smile. "I figured something was going on, yeah. So what is this about, Hermione?"

"It's…well…" She took a deep breath, pressed onward. She was Hermione Granger, after all. She'd survived this much, she could survive another humiliation, she supposed. Straightening her shoulders some, she wiped at her cheeks again and then finished her question. "I need to know when you lifted the wards on him. For his release."

"The morning I met him outside your house, right before he left," Harry replied instantly, but then started to correct himself. "Wait. That's not entirely true. I removed some the day of the funeral. A lot of the spell casting sustained damage from the fire, since all the wards on your property were heavily tied to one another. And since he was leaving anyway, it made sense to just- wait." He stopped and a strange look came over his face. Ginny could see he was finally putting two and two together.

"Why are you asking?" he said slowly, concern plain on his face.

"Harry," Hermione began, "I have to know. Because I'm…expecting."

"Expecting what? _Oh_. Expecting." His face drained of color. "Oh, Merlin."

"Yes," Hermione replied. "That's rather how I felt." She went on, trying to be matter-of-fact, and thankful that Harry hadn't immediately jumped for joy, as Ginny had. This was far from a joyous, carefree occasion. It was downright bizarre and she was completely unprepared for it, or for the ache that it had reawakened.

"So I just needed to know that he definitely was…is…you understand?" she continued. "And now it seems there's no question. So, thank you. I'm sorry I barged in on your work this way. I suppose I ought to go now-"

"Wait, Hermione," Harry said, standing up. He began pacing and Ginny and Hermione watched him curiously. He stopped suddenly and looked to them both. "So that's it? You just wanted to be sure and now you'll be on your way? You didn't want to know anything else, like where he is, or what he's-"

"He left, Harry," Hermione said. "My being pregnant doesn't change that."

"It changes everything!" Harry roared, before casting several silencing and privacy spells. "Bloody hell, why didn't I do that before-"

"Harry, what's the matter?"

He faced Hermione again and Ginny felt triumphant. She shot Hermione a look that said I told you so and Hermione frowned at her.

"Hermione, you have to tell him. He has to know."

"He can't come back, Harry!" Hermione cried. "It wouldn't make any difference- this escape, this change, it was for life! You know that as well as I, it was your bloody-"

Harry ran his hands through his hair, exasperated and incredibly upset. "This changes everything," he muttered again.

Hermione shook her head. "It doesn't change-"

"Hermione, listen to me," Harry said, kneeling again. He grabbed her hands. "He can come back. Their name can be cleared. They left you that choice. In fact…" He stopped and looked at her keenly. "Do you want me to pursue it, Hermione? Say the word."

"But Harry, the memories, Zabini-"

"Don't have to enter into it at all. I know a way. I can push it through. They're both dead by ministry standards and it's all in the report about Lucius' injuries sustained helping with the fire- a fire in which you were nearly killed. We put the same thing for Draco. So that's their redemption, easily enough."

"Yes, but Harry they're not-" She stopped dead and her eyes went wide as she processed information. Harry looked at her curiously.

"Hermione?"

"Harry," she began, "you keep saying 'they.'"

Harry realized what he'd done. "Er, we are talking about them both."

"Yes, but…"

"I knew it!" Ginny exclaimed, watching their reactions closely. "He's alive, isn't he? You sent the kitten off with him."

Harry looked extremely guilty and Hermione felt her eyes well with tears. She was suddenly having trouble breathing.

"_Harry_-"

"I had to, Hermione, Ginny. Look, I'm sorry, but I won't apologize for it. I promised them I'd help them with whatever their decision. And I swear to you, Hermione, it really was touch and go with Lucius there, for a while, even after we moved him. But it was their decision. Lucius thought it would be easier for you to accept their leaving if he really was dead to you-"

"Easier?" Hermione repeated. "_Easier_?" She felt herself growing madder by the second. It bolstered her, somehow. Gave her energy to feel and act. "Lucius, alive…I can't even…that was hell, Harry Potter. I hated myself! I _grieved _for him. And you know what else? Fine, go ahead and clear them with your new, better, cleverer way. I don't care! You can tell Draco Malfoy all about all this and I still wouldn't care what he thinks! Since the lot of you are apparently determined to do whatever you think is best without caring how I feel about it!"

She stood up and stalked to the door, leaving a stunned Harry behind her. She paused, her hand on the door knob.

"Go on," she hissed. "Tell him about it all. I don't care if he comes back, or not. It doesn't matter to me one bit!" she finished angrily before yanking the door open and stomping outside.

Harry stared after her and finally remembered Ginny. He looked down at her and gestured at the door.

"Aren't you going after her?"

She shook her head, her triumph of a minute before lost. "I have to get back to my job- she knows that. Besides," she continued more slowly, "she'll want to be alone right now. I know her well enough to see that. All she wants right now are her horses. I'll call her after work to check in on her. You should talk to her then, too."

He gave Ginny a pained look and knelt beside her chair next. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you any of this," he murmured. "I don't blame you, or her, for being angry."

Ginny shook her head. "Harry, I was more upset that Hermione didn't know anything. She deserved the truth. Lucius should have known better."

Harry gave a sigh and stood again, drawing Ginny from her chair. His hands were shaking and his face was troubled. She lay her head against his chest, put her hand over his heart. Both their thoughts were upon Hermione and her situation.

"Yeah," Harry admitted after a long moment, though the anguish on Hermione's face wouldn't leave his mind. "But we'll figure something out now."

Ginny pulled back some from his embrace. "You mean _you'll_ figure something out."

Harry sighed again. "I'll figure something out," he agreed. Thank Merlin he'd settled things the way he had. Perhaps now Zabini could be of proper use.

* * *

Harry swept into the minister's office the very next day and slapped a piece of paper down on the man's desk. The minister glanced up at him, startled, then eyed the paper warily. While they were all used to the Head Auror having his way with just about anything he pleased, he was cautious when signing things. He picked up the paper, inspected it.

"I take it you want my signature?"

"And your seal," Harry said.

"What is it for?"

Harry looked at him expectantly as if to say, you have eyes. You're not illiterate. The minister gave him an abashed look and glanced over the paper again. His eyes brightened.

"This is interesting."

"It should be," Harry said. "The full report was on your desk by close of business yesterday. I rather thought I'd sent a memo then preparing you for this. Because you do intend to sign it, don't you?"

The minister hesitated. "This is unusual, Harry, you must admit-"

"Codswallop," Harry said. The minister goggled. Harry tapped the paper impatiently with his wand. "Well? I'd like to get this rather mundane piece of business taken care of sooner than later. We do have actual dark wizards to attend to, after all."

"But, Harry…didn't they sign their estate over to Miss Granger?"

Harry eyed him as if to say, so you read the papers. Congratulations. The minister swallowed and reread the sheet.

"What is the purpose of a full pardon, in that case? With their estate gone, in competent hands, and the last of their immediate family line buried…"

"For honor," Harry said seriously, no longer impatient, or surly. He drew himself up to his full height, and with one look reminded the minister exactly why he was Head Auror.

"Or doesn't that mean anything in this place any longer?" he added coldly. The minister broke into a sweat and hurriedly began signing the paper, then reached for his official stamp.

"It's still highly unusual," the minister protested weakly. "Both dead, money gone, not even worth a proper trial-"

Harry snatched the paper back before the ink was even dry and the minister cowered back. The Head Auror was suddenly all smiles, once again.

"I was hoping you'd see it that way, Minister," he said. Then he bowed deeply and swept from the room, holding the pardon for the Malfoys before him almost reverently.

The minister gave a long sigh and then daubed the corner of one sleeve along his brow. Honestly, the man was brilliant- the best Head Auror since Shacklebolt- but he was downright intimidating at times. But of course, that was why he was the youngest to hold the position in several decades.

Brilliant, but scary.

* * *

**AN: See what I did thar? *winkwinkwink***


	50. Start Breathing

**I don't own it, make no money here (or anywhere else, really), and J.K. owns it all.**

**AN: Oh, just another two or three now, definitely. :) Enjoy it. I'm listening to McFly's All About You a lot lately. Helps encourage the happy ending along. ;)**

* * *

The phone rang and Hermione stared at it glumly from her place on the sofa. Go away, she thought. And after ten rings it did.

She laid her head back and massaged her temples. From outside came the sound of construction on the new barn. She'd decided to compromise and build it with a combination of good old fashioned elbow grease (and a good contractor), and magic of her own. The book George had sent was easy to understand and the spell work wasn't beyond her, now that she was using magic again. She still needed to do something about getting a new wand, though.

Using Ron's wore at her, especially now that she had the burden of a pregnancy to consider. It was very strange, to be surrounded by constant reminders of her two lovers, after all.

The phone began ringing again and she finally stood up and stomped over to it, picking it up.

"Hello?" she growled and heard Ginny's voice.

"Hermione, I've been trying to reach you since last night."

"I was busy," Hermione replied haughtily.

Ginny was quiet for a moment.

"Are you mad at me, Hermione?"

"I-" She sighed, feeling torn and tired. "No, Gin. I'm sorry. This is a lot for me to deal with, though. The answers aren't exactly easy ones. I heard the phone yesterday and I know I should have picked up. You must have been worried."

"Not more so than usual," Ginny replied and Hermione could hear the smile in her voice. "Are you ready to talk to Harry about things yet?"

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, Ginny, I really don't think-"

"Hermione, you need to hear what he has to say. Or at least let me tell you."

Hermione gave a short laugh. "He doesn't want to talk to me, either, does he?'

"He might be shaking his head right now," Ginny admitted wryly. "Are you very upset with him, too?"

"I don't know, Ginny. He had a right to do what he did. And so did Draco and Lucius. They must have felt worse over the entire episode than I thought. But all that's behind us now. I have to try-"

"If you say you have to try and make it alone, or move forward, or something else stupid like that, I'll scream," Ginny informed her. "Things don't have to be that way."

"But, Ginny, he left! They both did, of their own free will. And there's no way they can come back now."

"They can. Well, Draco can, at least," Ginny went on. "Harry had them pardoned."

Hermione felt the breath leave her. "But- how?"

"Just like he said," Ginny replied. "Because of the fire. And he's just waiting on you to say the word so he can get in touch with his contact for them."

Hermione was silent for several seconds and Ginny asked if she was still there.

"I'm here," she replied. "Ginny…even if they're pardoned, they can't come back. Not as themselves."

"Well, Lucius couldn't, definitely," Ginny replied. "But I was talking with Harry about it and judging from the sort of shape he was in, he might not want to, anyhow. Not that Harry really knows how they're doing now. But Draco- look, why don't you just talk to Harry-"

And she handed the phone off before Hermione could protest.

"Hermione?" Harry sounded extremely tentative and Hermione felt her bristles fade. She closed her eyes.

"Hi, Harry. I guess…you'd better tell me what all this is about."

"Right. First I need to apologize, though. It was wrong of me, Hermione-"

"No," she interrupted. "Don't waste any time on apologies. You did what you thought you needed to and so did they. I'm just…I already told Ginny, it's hard to deal with and would have been, even if things had been different. I don't think you quite understand how it feels, Harry," she went on in a softer voice. "After eight years of thinking I'd never have children, that my life could never be normal in that way…it made me feel less of a woman, somehow.

"Which is silly, I know," she said. "But I'd wanted all those things with Ron, you see….and I'd been coming to terms with it slowly. I'd even thought that if I never adopted, at least I'd have the therapy children. So now, after years of trying to make peace, to have it all back…it's been a shock. But it's not your fault," she ended firmly. "So don't think of it that way. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me."

"Alright, Hermione," he murmured. "I won't. But will you be alright, now?"

"What's 'alright?'" she asked. "I haven't known that for a long time. But I think I'll manage, somehow. Now, tell me what it is you've done."

"Ok. Ginny told you about the pardon-"

"Yes."

"Well, when Draco left that day he made his escape immediately."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there was no Draught of Living Death, no morgue, no false reports. Because we technically filed all those the day after the fire."

"I don't understand, Harry. How-" She stopped, took a few deep breaths. "Zabini."

"You always were the smart one," Harry said.

"So you used his corpse as Draco, which was why Draco supposedly couldn't come to the funeral. And the team of witches and wizards who kept coming by the house…"

"Were all my people, yeah," Harry finished for her. "You've already guessed about the closed casket, I figure, but on paper, at least, in the eyes of the ministry, Draco died days before his father."

"Harry, I don't see that this changes anything-"

"It does," he replied. "Easily. We set Zabini in the remains of the fire, so he was unrecognizable. It won't be difficult, when Draco comes back, to say that it was just a passing vagrant who died and not Malfoy. Especially since I basically wrote that it was a vagrant who started the barn fire in the first place."

"Harry!" Hermione was stunned. "You were planning for something like this all along, weren't you?" She somehow couldn't believe it. It was so…sneaky of him. And far too good to be true.

"I knew you loved him," he said simply. "It was plain for anyone to see. And I knew his going away would hurt you, might hurt you more terribly than it helped him. So when the opportunity arose to give him a way back, I took it."

"But you were vehement about it being final," she murmured. "I heard you two, sometimes. You wanted him gone-"

"Only as long as it was best. And it isn't best anymore. I'm not sure it ever was best, now. But that can't be helped. He has a way back now and I need to know if you want him to take it."

"But Lucius…" she murmured weakly.

"We'll deal with that later. It will all depend on what they have to say."

"We don't know that he'll even want to come back," Hermione said, but her protests sounded half hearted, even to her ears, and her heart was beating fast, was beating at all. She felt wildly alive and full of hope…but something stopped her.

"Harry," she said, "I don't…want you to tell him about- well, about the baby. It's early right now and anyway, I don't want him to feel an obligation to come back. What if he's happy right now? What if this messes things up for him?"

"Hermione," Harry began seriously, "I think I can safely promise you that he'll want to come back, whether I tell him about the baby or not. But I do think it's unfair-"

"And what they did to me is fair?"

Harry was silent.

"Look, I know he needs to know, be told. But I won't let it be the reason he comes back. That's my decision. Tell him whatever else you want, but don't you dare mention-"

"He has the right to know," Harry said quietly. "You know he does."

Hermione pressed her lips together, tried to quell her racing heart. "I know. Just…this is my choice, now. I wish you'd let me have it. If he- if they're both allowed to determine what's best for me, then I'm allowed to do the same at least once. Please, Harry."

More minutes passed and Hermione finally heard Harry sigh.

"Alright, Hermione. It's your decision. I'll make sure they're contacted within the next day. But I don't-"

"Like this," Hermione finished for him. "Yeah, I know. Thank you, Harry."

Harry murmured a gruff "You're welcome," and made his goodbyes before handing the phone back to Ginny, who demanded to know what was going on. When Hermione told her, she didn't like it any better than Harry had. But she understood.

"Just take care of yourself and the farm," she finally said. "And Harry and I will be sure to come this weekend for a visit. Sirius even asked if he might come, too. Said he had a proposition for you about your therapy. How would that be?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's fine, though I can't imagine what he thinks he can offer. Thank you for calling, Ginny."

"Of course. You're my best friend," Ginny replied and Hermione felt somewhat comforted.

But once she'd replaced the phone and gone out to the back porch, where she stood and watched the workers in the distance; her heartbeat picked up again and nothing she did for the rest of the day could quash the hope fluttering high in her breast.

* * *

Draco sat back on his heels, the sun overhead beating down on him, causing the sweat to roll down his face and into his eyes. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and then crouched back over the garden bed, reaching for another weed. There was a shout behind him and he turned around to see the lady of the house waving an arm at him. She was dressed in her impeccable clothes, pearls at her neck, hat on her head, and holding some sort of paper in her hands. She gestured again and he stood up and started towards her.

He'd come to work at one of the manor houses near the village he and his father were living in; because one of their neighbors- an elderly man that had been a gardener for years to many families in the area- had noticed the flowers Draco had been coaxing from the thin soil. And so he'd been using a little magic to make them grow, so what? He figured now that they were free it was alright, especially if he wasn't using much and only on plant life, at that. It wasn't as though he was harming anyone.

Although there were days when the guilt simply _ate _at him. But that wasn't guilt from hurting people, or creatures, unless one counted heartbreak. There wasn't a day that passed he didn't think of Hermione at least twenty times; even if immediately upon thinking of her he told himself she was better off without him. He and his father were out of her life now and she could go on in safety, and learn to live without them. It was best.

The woman approached him and held out the paper. "Here you are, Drake," she said. "It apparently went to your cottage, first, but your father had it sent over. Must be important." She watched him accept it warily and babbled on. "And how is Luke, by the way? Has he his health back? Do you think he could use a job as well? You know I told you, now, that if he's half as good with my camellias as you are that-"

Draco went pale beneath his sunburn and she stopped.

"Drake? Are you quite-"

He suddenly crumpled the missive in his hands and shoved it into his pocket. He forced a smile and glanced up at her.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry to worry you with that."

"Do you need to go? You can always finish weeding tomorrow, although we do have that garden party the next day and I'd hoped-"

"No, no, I can stay. It's just…an old friend. Hadn't heard from them in a while. Can't believe Dad thought it was that important, but that's like him," Draco responded. He shoved the paper in his pocket and the woman gave him a critical look.

"Well…alright. I'd better leave you to your work, then. And we'll see you tomorrow, as planned?"

"Of course," Draco replied rather stiffly and gave another forced smile. The woman started back across the lawn towards the house and Draco watched her go for a second before he turned and wandered back over the bed and his tools. He knelt back down, tried to pull some more weeds. Stopped and sat back again.

Clearly he was too distracted even for weeds. Damn.

Tentatively, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the note. Unfolding it, he smoothed it against his thigh and read it again. It was vague- it had to be, if it was from his contact here in Scotland, but even so he knew what it meant.

_Drake,_

_Can you make the return trip? I never heard from you. Hope the family is well. You're wanted. _

_All arrangements have been made. Miss Doyle is expecting you._

_Your friend, etc, etc._

The paper shook in his hands and he crumpled it again without warning. So, he was wanted? Arrangements had been made? But why would she want this now? It had been over a month already and he'd thought they were all finally adjusting. And what fucking arrangements? They'd been over it all again and again; how the relationship, though it had brought them both comfort, wasn't right. How they were best off without one another. How she deserved a real wizard, who was free to be who he was.

But he already knew he wouldn't- _couldn't_- turn down the request. Leaving had been harder than he'd ever imagined- more impossible to handle with each new day that separated them. He had to see her again, if she truly wanted him. Even if he only ended up leaving again. He'd take whatever chance she gave him, if it meant he could hold her close just one more time.

His heart ached terribly and he closed his eyes and wiped his brow again. He'd have to talk to his father about it all…and he still had weeding to accomplish. Hands still shaking, he reached forward once again, wrapped his gloved fingers around a sprouting nettle, and pulled.

* * *

Lucius glanced up from where he was kneading dough at the table in the tiny kitchen. He'd taken over most of the cooking once he'd gotten well, a fact Draco was grateful for, as he often had to take long gardening shifts in order for them to scrape by. Lucius eyed him critically, but didn't mention the letter immediately.

"You'd better wash up," he told him instead. "Dinner is soon. And you look as though you've gotten more sun again. I do wish you'd wear that sunscreen she sent you off with."

Draco shot his father a dirty look. "That was real subtle, Dad. Thanks. Why not just say her name outright next time?"

"If that's what you prefer," Lucius replied cheerfully. Mentioning Hermione was taboo in their small household, though Lucius often seemed to forget it at the most inconvenient of moments. Like now, when he'd just received that request.

Draco sighed. Actually, that wasn't quite fair of him. His father had been a veritable rock the last several weeks, even when he was still being nursed back to health. He was stronger and more vital than ever before, even more so than under Hermione's watchful eye; and Draco knew that even though it wasn't normal and certainly never what he'd expected; he was glad for the freedom and independence, the chance to make a new life. And he'd been quite kind with Draco over his emotions. The last several weeks, in fact, he felt as if it was the first time his father had ever simply been himself with Draco. Simply been…a father, and a friend.

So, what would returning now do to that wonderful new relationship? Would it change things? Would he come back broken hearted again, leaning on his father for strength? Would he come back at all? And what would that mean for Lucius, exactly?

"Dad," he began finally, washing up at the kitchen sink, "thanks for sending the letter on. Did you read it?"

"Of course not. But I saw it was from our contact. Oh, you want something, do you?" he said in an aside to the rapidly growing kitten that was circling his feet. "You've had your tidbit for the day. There's food in your bowl. Go on, then."

The kitten mewed pitifully and Draco smiled some, dried his hands. "You spoil him."

"Of course I do. He's my faithful companion all day while you're off baking in the sun like some bather on the Riviera. Now, tell me about the letter." He began forming the dough into little balls and sticking them on a baking sheet.

Draco pulled out a chair and picked idly at one of the unbaked rolls and Lucius swatted at his hand. Draco pulled away, holding his hands up in surrender, though both grinned at one another. Then he dug the letter back out of his pocket and smoothed it out again.

"It's a request," he said simply.

Lucius gave him a sharp look. "For what?"

"For- ah- for me to return." He gave his father a serious look and Lucius returned it for a long moment before he turned to the oven, sticking the baking sheets inside.

"When do you go?"

Draco paused. "Dad…"

"Don't be an idiot, boy. When do you go?"

"We said all that was over."

"That was before you received this letter. Are the details in it, or do you need to write back?"

"I need to respond, but Dad, are you really ok with this?"

Lucius set the timer and then pulled out the chair beside Draco. He sat down and a second later the erstwhile kitten leapt up into his lap.

"Draco, I'm happy here. Well…perhaps content is a better word. I could do with finding work-"

"The lady of the house is still completely enamored of you," Draco interjected and Lucius raised a brow at him before continuing.

"-but over all, I'm pleased with our life here. Rather, with my life here. But I can see you're not entirely happy, Draco. I know it will take time for you to get over her, but if there's the chance you don't have to…I want you to take it. You're my only child and the thing that will make me most happy at this point in my life is to see you happy."

Draco pressed his lips together and put his head in his hands. "Even if I come back again? Even if it's all for nothing?"

"She loved you, Draco. I doubt she's recovered any more quickly than you have. Why don't you write a response now, while I finish with dinner? And then you can tell me what the lady of the house said about me, exactly."

Draco looked up at his father and smiled weakly. "Sure, Dad. I'll go get a pen and paper. Back in a minute."

Lucius stood up, shooing the kitten from his lap, and watched Draco hurry from the room, a small smile on his face. The displaced kitten mewed up at him some more and he looked down, put his hands on his hips.

"I suppose you'll want his bedroom if he leaves. Well, you can't have it. He'll need a place to stay when they come back to visit from time to time. No arguments- ah!"

The kitten attempted to climb up his pant leg and he bent over and disengaged the tiny, sharp claws from the fabric and then held the kitten up and eyed him seriously.

"At any rate, you'll have my undivided attention from now on. That will have to do."

The kitten mewed a little louder and Lucius' smile turned into a wry grin.

"I quite agree," he replied and, perching the kitten on his shoulder, turned to the rest of the dinner preparations.

* * *

**AN: I want a kitten AND a Lucius. X And isn't the thought of sunburnt Draco ADORABLE? *sigh***


	51. Search No More

**Don't own any part of HP or its franchise, all rights to J.K. and co., and I make no money here.**

**AN: I recommend Bryan Adams' "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You" as listening material for this chapter. ;) Oh, and for that one pesky reviewer who's already requested a sequel…absolutely not. Write your own. I think that 150k PLUS words over the course of a month will have to do for this puppy. Thanks much.**

**Warning Lemon? As you can see, I'm not entirely sure there is one here- you'll just have to read and find out.**

* * *

A week passed, and as promised and arranged, Draco stepped off the train and onto the platform, only to come face to face with Harry Potter. Harry didn't miss a beat.

"Got your bag? Excellent. We can apparate directly to the farm, if you're not too tired."

Draco gave him a wary look. "Apparate?"

"You are free to use your magic now, Malfoy," Harry responded. "That is rather the purpose of this entire business."

"You know, Potter, those letters were very vague and I really have no idea what you're talking about. You seriously want to blow my cover this soon? You want me to just waltz on in like I was never gone? What if this doesn't go well? What if she doesn't want me there?"

Harry leveled a look at him and grabbed his arm. "Now is not the time to start panicking, Malfoy. There's no backing out. You're here and you'll bloody see Hermione whether you want to or not."

Without further warning, Harry turned on the spot, hand still firmly upon Draco's arm.

When they landed, Draco lost his footing and rolled into the grass and Harry helped him peremptorily, grabbing his bag for him and yanking him back to his feet.

"Merlin, Potter, what the hell is your problem?"

"Nothing, Malfoy. Look, she's up at the house, waiting for you. So go on," Harry replied, pointing up the drive.

Draco looked up the long drive and then back to Harry. "You're not taking me? You're just leaving me here?"

"What's _your_ problem, Malfoy?"

"What's the- Potter, you're the one who told me I'd better leave and never come back. And now-"

Harry threw his hands up. "Fine. I was going to let her explain everything, but I guess you need answers before you run into her arms and have your bleeding happy ending, don't you?"

Draco backed up some and hoisted his bag over his shoulder. "What are you on about? This is just a visit, isn't it? I don't even know why you're insisting on it, except that she wants to see me and you know I'm not going to turn down the chance."

"Then what's stopping you now?" Harry replied slowly, as if he was having to explain things to a very slow child.

"You're making me bloody nervous, is what's stopping me!" Draco exclaimed. "None of us parted on good terms, did we?"

Harry looked like he wanted to rip off Draco's head, or perhaps even his own. Death would spare him from having to deal with this paranoid, psychotic- he gave a growl of frustration.

"Ok, Draco. Here's what's going on. We got your pardon. And since Zabini was passed off as you…do you follow?"

Draco suddenly wished a hundred different things, but most of all he wished Potter had managed to convey all this in one of those damned mystifying letters; and that he'd thought to find all this out before they'd left the train station. Then he'd at least be able to run up the drive properly, now, since the shock would have worn off already.

Instead, he found himself clinging to the fence the same as Hermione had, nearly two months ago when she'd contemplated his leaving. Except now he was contemplating his returning.

"But won't they think I was a fugitive this whole time, then?" Draco managed to ask.

"I've smoothed everything over already," Harry said. "Amnesia. Now look, she's waiting for you and you have some pretty big issues to discuss. Get going or I'll drag you feet first myself."

Draco swallowed hard, willed himself to straighten up, keep breathing.

"Right. Waiting for me. Thanks, Potter. I'll…take it from here, then."

"You better," Harry replied, looking worried and relieved at the same time. Then he was gone.

Draco looked up the drive again and took a deep breath before starting up it, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. He could do this. He wanted to do this. No matter what happened to the details, he could actually come back to her, as himself. As a free man.

He could be the man she deserved now, and it changed everything. It gave him a sense of purpose, of belonging. It gave him back his old confidence.

He suddenly felt he could have flown up the drive, if he'd wanted to- simply sprouted wings. But he forced himself to stay calm, to take it slowly. After all, they had the time now. There was no need to rush.

Besides, he needed to think some- to try and control his emotions, to consider hers, and consider the future. The long walk up to the house would supply him with at least a little time, there. He hoisted his bag up again and continued to put one foot before the other as he made his way down the dirt lane; but there was finally the glimmer of a smile upon his face; and it only grew larger the nearer he drew to the house.

* * *

Hermione felt it the minute he crossed the wards, of course. She'd been working on the new barn- which was finished enough to house the horses now. The tingle raced up her spine and she nearly dropped her wand in the middle of a rather complex fire protection spell. Fortunately, all the horses were in the fields, so the only creature she spooked besides herself was the one ornery tomcat who'd survived the fire.

He hissed at her and then stalked off with as much dignity as possible, considering that the fire had left him with a permanently crooked tail.

"Well good afternoon to you, too," Hermione grumbled at him. Finishing the spell, she left the barn and started for the house. She was suddenly struck with the urge to check her hair, her face. Maybe slap on some makeup- just a little mascara, perhaps? And she shouldn't have worn her hair down today, men loved running their hands through-

What the hell was wrong with her? She was pregnant, not insane. Well, maybe pregnant and insane. And also very worried that all her hoping the last week would only land her back in heartbreak town. And about to see Draco for the first time in two months- the man she loved, when she'd though she would never love anyone ever again-

Hell no. Now she sounded like a bad romance novel. She pressed her lips together and stalked up the back porch and into the house, the door banging shut behind her.

She made a beeline for her bathroom, anyway.

After a minute or two spent in front of the mirror, fluffing her hair and feeling incredibly stupid, vulnerable and girly, she decided that was enough of that and forced herself out and into the kitchen. She busied herself pulling some things together for tea; and when that only took an extra three minutes, she went upstairs to double check his old bath and bedroom…since she wasn't sure he'd want to stay with her.

She wasn't quite sure what _she_ wanted yet, after all.

Hermione came down the stairs slowly and then walked out onto the front steps and sat down. A second later she stood up again. She didn't want it to seem like she'd been waiting very long, did she? A nervous laugh at her own silliness escaped her lips and she pressed her palms down against her jeans in an effort to chase the shakes away. She'd be trembling like a scared baby in a minute if she wasn't careful. This was _Draco_. The man she'd taken in, cared for, controlled, argued with, comforted, and loved, and…oh, god.

And he was walking up the drive now, headed for her. Had he seen her yet? Did he know she'd seen him? Her heart pounded and she knew she'd be sick in a minute if she didn't calm herself. He looked different, somehow. Taller, prouder, perhaps? His hair was even blonder, if that was possible…and his skin- he'd been getting sun. Oh, she'd warned him about using sunscreen, the stupid, idiotic- she shook her head and took a deep breath before looking out at him again.

He'd stopped short and she knew he'd seen her, then. She didn't wave, didn't move at all and for a long moment, neither did he. Then he started walking again, then running, and she was suddenly flying off the steps and into his outstretched arms; and they were wrapping around her, holding her tight, squeezing the air from her; and he was spinning her about and she wanted to laugh and cry at once.

"Hermione," he breathed in her ear. "Hermione, _Hermione_, my god-"

"I know," she whispered. "I know- oh, Draco-"

Then they were kissing and she knew absolutely that there was no need for her to ready the upstairs bedroom. Not if he was kissing her like this, now, plundering her mouth as if he was a dying soldier at a desert oasis. Speaking of oases…she managed to pull away long enough to suggest they go inside.

"It's terribly hot out here, and you've already gotten so much sun- I have tea all ready-"

"Fuck tea," Draco mumbled into her hair as he attacked her mouth again. She felt a little thrill race through her, but a second later it was dampened.

"Draco…" She pulled away again. "I-" she stopped short and he held himself off, though he was obviously trying very hard to control himself.

"No, you're right," he responded finally as his eyes roamed over her face. "We should go inside."

She smiled at him almost shyly and he felt his heart start racing all over again.

"Please, come in," she said and he preceded her into the house.

"Where…" he started and she waved a hand at the arm chairs in the living room.

"I'll bring the tea out," she said. "You…know where everything is, of course."

He nodded and gave a wry smile. "And my bag?"

She hesitated at the door of the kitchen and a blush spread over her cheeks. "Oh, er…I thought, with that-" she waved a hand, "-perhaps my bedroom is alright? That is, only if you want -"

"Hermione," he murmured, interrupting her embarrassed speech, "I want. Trust me."

The blush spread from her cheeks to her entire face and she pushed into the kitchen. He gave a soft snort at himself and wandered over to her bedroom, where he set his bag down just inside the door. His eyes took in the room- nothing had changed- and he made his way back to the living room. He took the chair opposite the sofa, which looked as though it had been occupied most recently. There was a blanket spread along part of it and several cushions had clearly been lain upon rather heavily. And of course, there was an open book lying face down on the blanket…he leaned over to see the cover.

Draco wasn't sure if the tight feeling in his chest was disbelief, joy, or a heart attack.

* * *

Hermione bustled back out of the kitchen into the living room holding the tray before her. She walked over to the side table and set it down, hardly noticing what Draco was doing. She turned the tea cups over.

"Do you want cream, Draco?" she asked. He gave a noncommittal response and she turned around.

"That wasn't a yes…" she said, but her voice trailed off quickly when she saw where he was.

Perched on the edge of the sofa, her book in his hands. She nearly dropped the tea pot, but some small strength stopped her. This was her news to tell him and it would have to be done sooner or later, anyway. Better be sooner, right? Especially before the visit got to far, before she slept with him again, before a multitude of things. She forced herself to keep pouring tea and only when she'd set a cup down beside him and taken hers over to the chair he'd vacated in favor of the sofa, did she allow her hands to shake a little.

"Well?" she asked. He closed the book slowly, finger marking the page she'd been on, and stared at the cover for a few seconds. Then he looked up at her. There was a question in his eyes. She put on a brave smile. Not a happy grin, or an overjoyed look of anticipation, but bravery.

"Yes," she replied to his silent query. His eyes remained glued to hers, as if he could read everything he needed to know in them. Then a small smile appeared on his own lips. He continued to hold the book as he watched her and she finally looked away to sip her tea.

"Well," he said. "That answers the question of whether I'll stay, or not. I suppose you've sold Malfoy Manor already?"

She sputtered into her tea and was so shocked that she didn't even consider her response.

"Of course not! It's yours, whether you signed things over or not. If you want it sold you'll have to do it yourself."

A sly look came over his face. "So you do want me to sell it, then. So that I can live here with you and the baby, right?"

She pressed her lips together and stared at him. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes," he replied. "But on one condition."

"What's that?" she asked.

"You have to marry me."

"Oh I _have_ to, do I?"

He shrugged and set the book aside.

"What's the point in coming back, in making some grand return, if I can't give you everything you deserve? And since you don't want to move," he went on, barreling over her protests, "then the logical thing is for me to sell the manor- especially since Dad doesn't want to come back- and move in here with you. But I won't do that unless you promise to make an honest man of me."

She tried to glare at him after that last remark, she really did, but ended up smirking instead.

"Is that so? When I'm the one you need to be making honest? I don't see you having a baby, Draco Malfoy."

He quirked a brow at her. "That's a very good point. In that case…"

Hermione watched, disbelieving, as he got to one knee in front of her and took one of her hands. She was forced to set her cup down because her other hand began shaking so badly.

"Draco…" she began, but he shook his head and she hushed quickly.

"Hermione Granger, will you please, for the love of Merlin, do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She never said yes, exactly, but Draco took her lips on his and her arms about his neck as the same thing. She slid from her seat as his arms went about her waist and they toppled to the floor together; where his hands were suddenly in her hair, on her cheeks, under her blouse, running gently over her stomach; and she could only murmur contentedly against his lips and pull him closer as he lay over her.

"So," he mumbled as he looked down at her, "a baby, hmm?"

She nodded and blushed, pursed her lips. "Are you…pleased?" she asked quietly. A slow smiled spread across his face.

"Hermione, I've just found out that not only can I return, be with you permanently, as myself, but that you're also- that we can have a family. That you can have children. I know you wanted that desperately."

"I did," she admitted and he kissed her again languidly She pulled back some and his smile slipped away.

"But something's bothering you?"

She bit her lip. "It's just…" She took a deep breath, tried again. "You aren't asking me, you aren't deciding to stay because of the baby, are you? Because we…well, it's early yet, and anyway, I could make it on my own, if I needed to. I'm strong enough, now."

Draco looked at her sadly. "You've always been strong enough, Hermione," he said. "And believe me, a child is merely…icing on the proverbial cake. I'm most happy because of what it must mean to you. Not that I don't want children," he amended, "but we would have worked something out. Adopted, maybe."

"We could still do that," she said tentatively. He smiled again.

"We could," he agreed. "We will, if you like, since I'm fairly certain I'll do whatever you want me to, if it makes you happy. So, is all this a yes, then? I'm sorry I don't have a ring right now, but as soon as you sign those accounts back over to me we'll go buy you one."

She grinned in return. "It's a yes," she breathed. "And I don't care about a ring."

"Too bad," he replied, "because I do, and you'll have the biggest, gaudiest ring money can buy."

"Oh, Draco," she mumbled, hiding her face against his chest. He smiled indulgently and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then to her temple, then her cheek…her lips…

She met his mouth eagerly despite her tears and he knew that for once, they weren't tears of sorrow. He kissed them away anyway; and was about to pull back, to suggest they at least try the sofa instead of the floor; when he suddenly found himself being rolled onto his back with her on top of him, tugging at his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders.

He got as far as saying her name before she'd pushed him back down and was straddling his lap, just as she had that first time they'd been together. He opened his eyes, stared at her.

"Hermione, are you-"

"I'm sure," she said breathlessly before taking his face in her hands and kissing him again. Her lips were soft as he remembered, but more demanding, and he wondered how he ever could have left in the first place. She tugged at his shirt again and he propped himself up on his elbows and helped her finish pulling it off, then kicked off his shoes behind her as she lifted her arms and removed her blouse. Then her hands started in on his slacks, fumbling at the buttons, and he laughingly moved her hands away, delighted at her eagerness and more than a little eager, himself.

"Let me," he murmured and she gave a sigh of frustration before she suddenly stood up and started to shimmy out of her own pants. His hands slowed at their work as he stared up the line of her body, one leg on either side of him. He watched as she lifted first one leg, then they other, until she stood over him in only her under things.

They were fuchsia, today. His breath caught in his throat and that shy look came over her face again as she returned his stare. Then she put on hand to her hip and cocked her head at him.

"Well?" she asked. "Are you going to lie there and look dumbfounded, or are you going to take your pants off?"

"You bloody she-devil," he murmured, though his hands worked twice as fast to divest himself of his trousers. She continued to look down at him, an amused glint in her eyes, and he sat up, reaching his hands up and grasping her waist, pulling her back down to him. She sat down hard on his lap and he groaned before she covered his mouth with hers again.

After that, all thought was lost to the feel of her legs drawn up to his sides, her warmth and wetness as she took him in, the sensation of her lips and tongue upon his neck and ear. He held her tightly in the shade of the living room, light diffusing over the ceiling and a breeze bristling along their necks every so often. It was paradise. It was everything he'd missed and more.

Squeezing a hand between them, his fingers lingered over her smooth, soft belly for a second and he looked to her as a thought came to him.

"Hermione- the baby-"

She rocked forward again, making him close his eyes in pleasure, and pressed a kiss to his cheek, his lips as she gripped his shoulders.

"That," she whispered, "is not your concern. It's fine. Please, Draco…"

He growled against her lips and she abruptly found herself on her back on the rug, him hovering over her, pressing in and out of her so slowly, kissing her so tenderly. She moaned and tried to draw him closer and his hand trailed down between them again, making her breath catch.

"It's my concern now, witch," he murmured. "But I'll trust you this once, how's that?"

His finger stroked her in time with their motion and she shuddered. He allowed her to draw him close again and she came around him suddenly, sweetly, his name rolling off her tongue. He finished a second later, still holding her gently, and then he sat up slowly, cradling her to him.

From outside came the distant whinnies and neighs of horses, the pleasant bussing of insects around trees and flowers, while all around them floated the scents of orange and juniper. Draco sighed and held her closer, burying his face in her neck as she peppered tired kisses along his skin, smoothed her hands over his hair.

And all was right with the world again.

* * *

An hour later found them both in the kitchen, after lengthy showers and more cuddling, ready to discuss things more seriously. Although it was hard for Hermione to think when Draco kept looking at her that way…she put a hand to her face.

"They won't ever be completely gone," she murmured. "That's why I was so shocked over the pregnancy. I didn't think that things…"

"Would ever be the same," he supplied. "I suppose they won't, really. But I hope you don't think I mind, Hermione. I don't. I think-"

"If you try to tell me I'm beautiful," she began, but he interrupted her.

"They're just scars," he said. "And no, I'm sure no one will ever ask you to model for Witch Weekly. But you're beautiful to me, and to everyone who knows you. You always have been."

"Draco." She gave him a withering glance and he smiled back serenely.

"Alright, I won't say another word. For now."

"Good," she replied, though her heart was fluttering at his words. She knew she wasn't cover model material, that she'd win no awards. But he thought she was beautiful anyway, just the way she was- had fallen in love with her before they'd begun fading, even. It was quite moving.

"Are you crying?" he asked suspiciously and she sniffled and quickly wiped her cheeks before turning and placing the plate of sandwiches on the table, along with some lemonade. She sat down opposite him and smiled.

"Of course not. Now, what about Lucius. Please, Draco, I want to hear all about it. How is he? How are you? What have you been doing?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, but didn't pursue the subject and instead began answering her questions.

"Dad is well. Really well," he said. "And the kitten is good, too. A right little bugger. Sometimes I think Dad loves him more than me."

"I'm so glad they're alright," she said and he smiled.

"Yeah, they are. I've been working as a gardener for one of the manors near our village; and the lady of the house- she's not married by the way, she's the sister of the owner- has taken a fancy to Dad. You know him."

"Oh?" Hermione sounded surprised and Draco gave her a sharp look. "And he was so determined to be true to…"

"Mum? Yeah," Draco said, a wry smile on his lips. "I don't think there's really anything there, but he does seem to enjoy the conversation. The woman's been trying to get him to come work as a second gardener, but Dad is actually better in the kitchen than outdoors." His face suddenly changed. "I hope she won't mind that I'm quitting."

"And what about him?" Hermione pressed. "Will you two be alright with this? I wish he could come back, too. It's not fair to either of you-"

"Don't worry over it, Hermione," Draco said, taking her hand. "He understands more than we think he does. He'll be alright. He told me already that he's…well, he's content with things as they are. He wants to put his old life behind him entirely. Besides, we both knew when we left that the point of Potter's network is to protect the escapees at all costs; and that even though he was able to push through a pardon for me, to smooth it all out; that even to have just me come back is pressing his luck, putting the entire program at risk. The ministry is changing, but not that quickly."

"You'll want to see him, occasionally," Hermione said. "It's only right."

"And he'll want to see us," Draco confirmed. "But we'll figure out some other way. I promise." He kissed her hand and she flushed again.

"I want to believe you," she began and he looked at her fiercely.

"Then do believe me. Don't start to panic now. This is a strange life we're entering into, and I'd be lying if I said it doesn't frighten me a little, too. But we'll be together at least. That has to be enough."

Hermione was silent for a minute and she stared at him, evaluating him, looking for the courage she knew they would both need in the coming months. She found it and squeezed his hand in reply.

"Alright, Draco. I believe you."

He smiled, relieved, and kissed her hand again. "Good. Then let's make our plans. I don't want to waste any more time."

She gave him an arch look and straightened up. "So that's what you call what we were doing out in the living room?"

He paled. "I didn't," he began, but a second later her face fell to a grin and he rolled his eyes. "Ha, ha. Think that's clever?" He stood up and advanced around the table. She scooted her chair away warily.

"Draco…we were going to discuss things- Draco!"

Her protests and their mutual laughter were lost to more kisses soon after his assault. The sandwiches didn't get eaten for another forty-five minutes, except for one, which was dragged off by one of the crusading brothers of Lucius' kitten.

* * *

**AN: In Hermione's case, Draco and sex make her extremely pliable and mild-mannered. In case you were expecting more of an argument, or screaming and crying, or something. I'm just trying to explain character actions here.**

**Also, they can't just glamour Lucius and have him come back that way. Would you want to live undercover amidst your own people the rest of your life? Also, what would be the point of this witness protection- like program, otherwise? What would be the point of the escapes? I'm just sayin'.**

**ALSO, where are these requests for music for a Dramione "Who Wants To Live Forever" and/or "She's Always A Woman" vid? Make it happen, people. It's time we give fans a better kind of Dramione vid, isn't it? Enough with the Within Temptation and Evanescence. Draco and Hermione deserve better.**


	52. Filled Up With Meaning

**I don't own any of this and never will. No money made here. It's all J.K.'s and co. **

**AN: Well, one more to go. I always get a sort of depression upon finishing a fanfiction. Except this time. This story needs to be over and I have a lot of other good plot bunnies to follow. And to my reviewers who love it and have disabled PMs, I hear you and thanks for reading and reviewing. Love you!**

**You know what's more depressing than this story being over? OMFG I want a Draco like this one, and he DOESN'T EXIST. Bloody hell. **

* * *

Draco stood right next to her, arm about her waist, lips upon her neck, as she picked up the telephone to dial Ginny. She tried to swat him away, but he only held on tighter.

"Draco, I'm trying to make a phone call-"

"Don't let me stop you."

"Draco!"

But she dialed anyhow and a second later the phone was picked up on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, somewhat breathlessly.

"Hermione? What's the matter? He is there, isn't he? Has he said-"

"Oh, nothing like that," Hermione hastened to assure her. "Draco, stop it-"

Ginny burst into laughter. "Put him on."

Hermione dutifully shoved the telephone at Draco, who stared at it as if it was a snake.

"Hello?" they could hear Ginny saying and Hermione finally put it up to his ear when he refused to take it. In retaliation, Draco wound his arms about her waist, forcing her to hold the phone for him as he pressed kisses to her cheeks.

"Draco!" Hermione hissed and he grinned evilly before acquiescing and taking the phone, himself.

"Hello, Ginny," Draco murmured, keeping one arm firmly about Hermione, who was trying to edge away so she could finish cleaning up the kitchen.

"Draco," the red-head replied. "So, things are going well?"

"One might say that," he said cautiously.

"Oh, stop. I can hear the smug grin you're wearing. So, you're back and you're going to do right by my best friend, is that it?"

"That is rather the idea," he said. "I've asked her to marry me, if that's alright with you." He looked down at the witch in his arms, satisfied to see a blush spread over her cheeks. He kissed her again.

"That's alright with me, if it's what she wants. Well, in that case…I'm glad you're back. And what about your father?"

"We'll work something out," Draco assured her. "He wants to stay where he is, anyway, so we won't be risking things too much."

"That's good." Ginny sounded extremely relieved.

"You really cared about this, didn't you?" Draco asked suddenly.

Ginny snorted. "What do you think? She's my best friend and taking you two in did more for her in a month and a half than anything else did in eight years. I'm…" Her voice trailed off and she took a breath. "I'm grateful to you. You make her happy."

"She makes me happy," Draco replied very seriously. "And I didn't think I'd feel that way, ever again. And I owe my freedom and health to you both, and to Potter. Please tell him thank you, for me."

"Tell him yourself," Ginny responded, voice gruff with emotion. "You have to come into the city with Hermione anyway, to meet with ministry officials."

Draco gave Hermione an is-that-so look and she shrugged apologetically. "We have an appointment tomorrow," she admitted. He sighed.

"Alright, Ginny. I'll see you both tomorrow, it seems."

"Good, now hand me back."

Draco handed her the telephone and she took it primly, swatting him away as he leaned in for another kiss.

"Ginny?"

"Hermione, I have to ask. Are you happy?"

Hermione smiled and was about to give a snarky reply, but her eyes fell on Ron's wand, sitting there harmlessly on the hall table. She was silent for a long moment as she considered Ginny's question seriously. Was she happy? Could she ever truly be happy, again?

But how she felt with Draco's arm around her- possessive and comforting all at once- there was no question it was closer to genuine joy than she'd felt in a very long time. Even the calm she felt with her horses was born of their not being human, despite the souls she knew they had. With Draco, she felt a hundred things at the same time- ease and fear, love and anger. Yet they didn't make her uncertain of her future with him. If anything, they made her excited, caused her heart to speed up and her breath to come short. They made her want to kiss him, to laugh with him, to share her life with him.

All the things she'd once been so certain she and Ron would have…and she'd called that thing happiness, then.

"Yes," she said before Ginny could ask the question again. "Yes, I am happy. If that's what all this means." She felt Draco tense some and turned her gaze to him, but he was smiling down at her. He understood her hesitation, the evaluation that had to be made. He'd done the same thing, after all, time and again. The lines of emotions were not easily defined, anymore. Life was too complex.

Ginny spoke. "What do you-"

"We never thought we'd have these things again, Gin," Hermione said softly. "Family…love. Feeling safe, for once in our lives. When was the last time you didn't need a cigarette, or I didn't need a pill? But we don't need them now, do we? It might seem like a messed up way to define happiness, but it's what we have."

"I understand," Ginny responded. "And I'm glad for you."

There was the sound of sniffling.

"Are you crying?"

"When am I ever not crying?" Ginny retorted.

"That's my line," Hermione said and Ginny gave a gurgling laugh.

"Not anymore, it isn't."

Hermione raised her eyes to Draco's again and lifted a hand, smoothed his hair back tenderly. She smiled.

"I think you're right," she replied. "It's not."

Draco leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers and she heard Ginny blow her nose.

"See you tomorrow, Gin?"

"Yeah," her friend replied. "I need to go, too. Bright and early- don't forget."

"I won't," Hermione said, voice barely a whisper, and then Draco was taking the phone from her hands and hanging it up before bringing his lips down to hers.

Neither moved for a long time.

* * *

The next afternoon found them in a small restaurant, seated across from Harry and Ginny. The appointment at the ministry had gone as expected, with multiple suspicious glances cast at Draco and wondering looks sent towards Hermione. But Harry's evidence and testimony about the fire and Draco's supposed amnesia held fast and soon enough they were signing papers, releasing him into the world as a free man, awarding the Malfoy estate back to him.

They turned right around and made a stop at the wizarding realty offices to put the manor on the market. Then Draco insisted they stop at Gringotts so he could make a withdrawal, since, as he'd said yesterday, they had a ring to purchase (in addition to a new wand for Draco and other various amenities).

Harry didn't bat an eye through any of this conversation, while Ginny and Hermione conversed in low tones and sparkling eyes. Although Hermione looked considerably more embarrassed than Draco. The change his freedom had wrought in him was phenomenal, though Harry could see there was still something bothering him. Over lunch, he learned what it was.

"I saw the looks they gave me," Draco murmured. "There's no way it's safe for my father to…"

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," Harry said. "I wish there was a way, but you're right. It's too soon. It's a risk just having you come back."

"I understand that," Draco said and Hermione took his hand in hers, pressed it gently.

"Can't we at least see him?" she asked Harry.

Harry looked about at all three of them. "I think we can afford for you to go back once, get whatever things you might want. Say goodbye," he said softly. "But until the ministry quiets more- which I'm hoping will be soon- you'll have to do with letters."

"What's your definition of soon?" Ginny asked pointedly and Harry frowned.

"I honestly can't say. You're with the ministry now, Gin. You've seen what they're like. Five years, maybe?"

"Five years!" Hermione gasped and Draco looked to her, shook his head.

"Probably longer, knowing those bastards."

Harry looked incredibly sorry. "If the three of you want to be together…I just can't see a way at this point. I'm sorry."

Hermione spoke up. "I know a way," she said, and the rest of the table stared at her. She flushed. "Draco and I can leave. Move to some other country. If we're somewhere else that lowers the chances-"

"Hermione," Draco began, interrupting her, "I can't let you do that. Pack up? Leave behind all you've built up here? Leave your friends, when they're the only family you have left?"

Hermione pressed her lips together. "You're my family now, too," she said, but Draco shook his head again.

"No, Hermione. It's alright. I already told you, Dad…he'll be ok with this. I think we'd expected to see each other more than once in five years, but…we were both prepared for this inevitability when I got that letter last week."

Hermione looked incredibly sad and Draco smiled at her. "Cheer up. We get a visit before it's goodbye- and it's not goodbye forever."

"He'll have a grandchild who won't even know him," Hermione said, voice quavering. "It isn't right."

"You can send him pictures," Harry said. "Muggle photos, so they won't stand out."

Hermione brightened up a little. "Home videos," she added. "Oh, Harry, what about phone calls?"

"Too risky, I think," Harry replied. "But look, the food's here. Let's eat before it gets cold or we're too depressed to do it justice."

Draco looked as if he agreed, and wanted to put such awful thoughts from his head. Not see his father, the man he'd cared for relentlessly, more than his own life, even, for years? It would have been unbearable to consider, if not for the witch sitting next to him, picking at her food with a solemn look upon her face. Ginny looked equally somber, and the two witches pushed their food about restlessly. Draco watched this through a few bites of his own food before he had an idea. He lifted a hand and called the waiter over. Harry watched him curiously. Draco put on a brave smile and glanced round the table before turning to the waiter.

"Could you bring us the dessert menus, please?"

The women couldn't help brightening some at the prospect of cake instead of real food, and the conversation wound its way to safer, happier topics.

But the good mood of the day had been lost, and a solemnity was cast over Draco's and Hermione's reunion that would not be lifted, for all the chocolate, engagement rings, plans, or love making they indulged in. So, Draco wasn't entirely surprised when later that night, he got up to use the loo and found Hermione wasn't lying beside him. He left the bedroom and checked the kitchen- no Hermione. She wasn't in the living room, either, and when he saw the back door was unlatched, he hurriedly slipped on some shoes and a shirt and walked outside. In the distance, he could see some lights were on in the barn and he summoned his new wand before starting out across the grass.

He crept into the new barn quietly and started down the dimly lit aisle until he came to an open stall. He checked the nameplate. Echo, of course. He peered inside and found Hermione standing next to the mare, leaning against her with her arms about the mare's neck. In the lamplight he could see evidence of tears on her face.

"Hermione," he called softly and she tensed slightly, then turned her head and smiled weakly at him.

"Draco," she said, and relinquished her hold upon the mare to walk over to him and let him put his arms about her. She rested her head against his shoulder and gave a weary sigh.

"Thinking about Dad," he guessed and she nodded.

"And everything else."

"Trying to solve the world's problems again, are we?" he teased and was rewarded by a soft, self deprecating laugh.

"I suppose so. Oh, Draco. How can we be sure of this?"

"Because I love you," he replied and she lifted her head and looked up at him.

"I know," she said. "But will it really be enough? When the only thing you have to look forward to is me and…whatever sort of child I'm having-"

"Human, I hope," he said with a straight face and she swatted his arm, then leaned into him again.

"You know what I mean," she said. "And the work out here…you're really happy to give up your old life to move to a horse farm? To work with a therapy program? To collect eggs every morning, the rest of your life, when there's only me to come back to? When you don't know when you'll see your father again?"

"Only you?" he whispered and gave a short laugh. "Hermione, you're all I want. You and this child, this farm. I want them all. I wouldn't have come back if I didn't. I knew this place was part of the deal. You'll never leave it and I wouldn't ask you to. Dad wouldn't ask you to. Besides, this is where I found myself again, Hermione. Here, with these horses, these bloody chickens. And you."

She laughed, she couldn't help it, and he laughed with her. When they'd quieted down, he kissed her soundly.

"Feel better?"

"I do," she admitted. "Everyday that you're here."

He snorted and ruffled her hair, then took her hand. "You're the strong one, Hermione. It's your strength that makes me able to stomach anything. Even collecting eggs the rest of my life." He winked down at her and she rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's leave these poor creatures to their sleep. I'll make you some tea, yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied quietly. She gripped his hand tightly. "Perhaps we should finally write to Lucius, as long as we're up."

"That's a good idea," he replied. "And then I'm going to fuck you until you're too tired to think any longer."

"Draco!" she gasped and he stopped in the middle of the path, and the moonlight, and swung her into his arms.

"I love it when you say my name that way," he murmured before kissing her again and she grinned against his lips, unable to help herself.

"Draco Malfoy, you are incorrigible," she said when he came up for air.

"And insatiable," he added, kissing her neck, her jaw, her cheeks. "Don't forget that."

"Draco…"

Her breathless protests were lost to the night air, gone amidst the chirping of crickets and the lazy flight of june bugs; while the moon continued to light up their intertwined bodies, reassured that for now, at least, all doubts were assuaged beneath the tremor of passionate kisses and trembling fingertips.

* * *

Lucius was having tea with the lady of the house- she had insisted on visiting him while Draco was away, to make sure he wasn't lonely. Laughable, considering how much his heart still beat only for Narcissa- and how much his affections were tied up in his son and a certain curly haired witch. But whatever her motives for desiring his company, he found it relieved monotony and her conversation was enjoyable, at least. He was not entirely surprised to find that he could have a great deal in common with muggles, after all- but then, she was the sister of the lord of the manor. Not that it was nearly as prestigious as Malfoy Manor had been, but what was? Buckingham Palace, perhaps.

He raised a brow as she made another clever remark about the current prime minister and was gratified when she broke off to compliment him on the tea cakes again.

"Wherever did you learn to cook like this?" she asked. "It's delightful. I absolutely must have some. You know, I'm sure Drake told you that I've been asking for you to come work in our gardens, but I rather think I'd better have you as our chef, instead. How would that be, Luke? You're not terribly insulted, are you?"

She also babbled, but that was alright. It allowed him time to plan his answers so that he didn't say something ridiculous about the wizarding world and give himself away.

Now he smiled politely and shook his head. "Not at all. You've complimented me, in fact. Why would I be insulted?"

She looked slightly startled and smoothed her hair down self-consciously. "Oh, I thought…you have an air about you, Luke. I'm sure you must be aware of it. I did wonder if perhaps you were gentry, perhaps…?"

Lucius' smile broadened. "One might say that. But that's all behind us. The simple life for me, now. I prefer it that way. I should warn you, however, with Drake's being away so long…I believe he's had an offer elsewhere."

The woman looked sly. "I wondered when I gave him that letter. And there was a woman involved too, I'll wager."

"You are astute," Lucius said and the woman tittered.

"Just because I'm unmarried doesn't mean I know nothing of romance, dear Luke. You, for instance- there's tragedy in your past. And clearly, you had a wife…or partner, if you have a son. But there, I shouldn't pry. I apologize."

Lucius shook his head again and poured more tea.

"Sometimes it can be…good to remind oneself of the past. To think on the happier occasions."

"That's very true," the woman responded. "I was young once. I understand regrets…lost loves…" Her face grew wistful, but a moment later she smiled again. "And there I go again. You really ought to stop me, Luke."

"Trust me, dear lady," he responded with a gallant bow of his head, "I'll stop you when necessary."

She tittered again and was just replying when there was a knock on the cottage door. The clearly well-fed kitten mewed from his post on the window sill and Lucius looked over anxiously. He'd been expecting word of some sort for days- was this…

"Excuse me," he murmured and stood, walked to the door.

The mail man was at the door and holding a package and a couple of letters. Lucius thanked the man and took them, then shut the door and made his way back to the small living area.

The lady looked at the package curiously. "My word," she said, "who is that from? Drake, perhaps?"

Lucius frowned for a minute as he looked at the missives and then gave her a distracted glance.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, "but do you mind if I open these?"

"Not at all," she replied. "I'll be perfectly quiet. Pretend I'm not even here."

Lucius smirked, but focused on the mail. He opened the first letter and scanned it- another vague, coded missive informing him that Draco had arrived safely and was now a free man. Wonderful. He couldn't help the way his heart leapt a little at the news- he was incredibly happy for his son. This was what Draco had wanted all along, and what he wanted for his son...what Narcissa would have wanted.

The second letter gave him pause. It smelled faintly of juniper and was in Hermione's handwriting, though she'd clearly written it with Draco hovering over her shoulder.

_Dear Luke_, it ran,

_Drake and I are making plans to come and see you. We regret we won't be able to visit much after this, but Drake assures me you understand it is for the best. I look forward to seeing you again, as does he. He insisted I be the one to write, though I don't know why. We wanted you to know that, well, I'm expecting a baby. It was a complete surprise to us all. I do hope you'll be pleased? It's a frightening adventure, but Drake and I are determined to see it all through, together. He has asked me to marry him and I suppose you'll want to give us your blessing. Well, that's ok, because I wouldn't feel right without it. Everything has changed now that he's back, but for the better, I think. _

_The estate is in his hands and he is selling the house and most of the property, to raise money for some charity work. There will be a fund for you, Luke, too, so you'll never want for anything- we will both take care of you as best we can, from afar. Oh, dear. That looks so dreadful, written down. I'm sorry, Luke. I do wish things were different. But we'll write constantly- Drake is reminding me _I'll_ write, not him, the bugger. And we'll be sure and take plenty of photos and videos of the little one when he or she arrives. Holidays, birthdays- we'll be together in spirit. _

_There, that's enough of that. We seem determined to be cheerful, I suppose. But what else can we be? There's so much to be thankful for. I understand that the lady of the manor up there wants you to go work for her, according to Drake. I think that's a good idea. You should keep busy. We've agreed that people should know Drake is moving to get married and take a job elsewhere- some sort of foreign country. We'll figure things out when we see one another. But that way you'll be able to tell people something. Now, I'm sure you're wondering about the package._

_Drake and I were going through the house in preparation for its sale and we found a few odds and ends we thought you might like to have. Everything else of value we'll have with us, but these should stay with you. Nothing that will give you away, as long as you don't go putting advertisements in the papers. _Lucius smiled at that and could almost picture the wry look that must have been upon her face as she'd written that. He finished reading.

_At any rate, we hope you like them, and we expect to make our trip in the next two weeks. Drake insists there's room at the cottage for both of us, but I trust you'll let us know otherwise if you need to. Please take care of yourself, Luke. We miss you terribly._

_Your loving son and future daughter-in-law_- and that part was written in Draco's hand, which gave Lucius a chuckle- _Drake and Jeannie_

_P.S. The picture reminds me rather of old photographs from my great grandparents' era. She's sitting so still, it's uncanny. _

Lucius set the letter aside- out of reach from prying eyes- and then lifted the package, contemplating it. A picture? What on earth did she mean, he couldn't help wondering, though there was a small flame of hope within him at the post script.

"What is it?" came the woman's voice. "Did the letter say?"

Lucius glanced at her again as he tore the wrapping away and opened the lid. "Odds and ends. They're cleaning house to prepare for a move," he answered vaguely and continued to pull packing materials from the box. Then he finally reached the prizes inside. The first item he pulled out was a flower press- a sizable one.

"I don't think I've ever seen one so large," the woman murmured and he smiled wistfully as he looked at it. There were a few heads of narcissi captured between the glass panes and though he had to think for a moment, he finally knew their significance.

Narcissa's wedding flowers.

The next item was a long, slender box. Lucius lifted the lid slowly, wary of what he might find, but an instant later a smile spread across his face.

Those awful Easter pearls. There was small note tucked inside the box, beneath the necklace, and he pulled it out and read it. It was in Narcissa's hand, and it was a note that if she was ever blessed with a granddaughter, the pearls were to go to her. It was just the sort of thing she would have written to herself, that he could imagine her jotting down once she'd realized she'd never have a daughter of her own. His heart felt squeezed tight and he had to swallow against tears as he set the box out next to the flower press.

Finally, he lifted the last package from the box, pulled the butcher paper away from it slowly. It was a framed picture, and the instant he laid eyes on it he found it difficult to breathe.

Narcissa, his wife, the love of his life. Beaming at the camera as if there were no tomorrow, smile bright, eyes trained straight ahead, hair falling about her shoulders in blond waved. Looking angelic and absolutely perfect. So still, despite the occasional blink, because all her attention was captured by the man wielding the camera- himself. He remembered taking that portrait. He remembered smiling with her beforehand and kissing her afterwards, telling her he'd love her always. And there she was again, in his hands now.

His wife.

He didn't realize he was crying until the woman shifted and then leaned forward to hand him a frilly handkerchief.

"I…pardon me," he murmured, refusing the dainty lace and reaching for his own, sturdy handkerchief.

"May I?" the woman asked and had the portrait in her hands before he could protest.

"This must be her, isn't it?" she said. "Your wife, I mean. She's very beautiful. Do you mind my asking…how long?"

"Thirty-four years of marriage," he replied softly. "And she's been gone for eight of them."

There was a brief silence as she met his eyes over the top of the picture.

"I see," she said quietly after a moment. "I'm so sorry." Then she gasped and nearly dropped the picture.

Lucius caught it in time and took it away, setting it up on a corner table, turned slightly so she couldn't see it. "You know," the woman began again, "I almost fancied she…_moved_ somehow. I must have been eating too many of these cakes. Really, Luke, I'd better be going. I'm sorry I intruded on your…"

She floundered for words for a second and Lucius stepped in quickly.

"Please, think nothing of it. I appreciate your visiting me. I wasn't expecting a package today and I shouldn't have opened it in front of you."

She looked grateful, but still somewhat disturbed, and he saw her to the door. They exchanged some more pleasantries and he promised to reconsider her offer to come and work for her. Then she was gone and he was alone with his box of memories. He wandered back over to them and sat holding the pearls and the flower press for a long time, his eyes never straying from her portrait. And he wondered if these small gifts would be consolation enough in the coming years, when he wouldn't see his family at all. He could only hope so; and finally, with a sigh both contented and full of regret, he stood up and began to take the tea things away.

* * *

In the end, they decided to pass Lucius off as one of Hermione's few living relatives. A distant cousin, Luke Mallory, living up in Scotland, who served as chef at the manor house Draco used to work at. They couldn't see him after that first visit, but it was a sacrifice all three were willing to make, and they could at least write letters. Not to mention that Lucius had a fine set of photo albums capturing every moment of their life together in the stillness of muggle photography. They weren't sure if things would ever quiet down enough for their relationship to eventually become more public; and even in that event, Lucius would likely spend the rest of his life as Luke. Fortunately, Draco's and Hermione's use of pseudonyms didn't raise any eyebrows. The wizarding world knew that despite both Hermione's and Draco's return to magic, they preferred their privacy. And, partly because Hermione was who she was and partly because Harry Potter was good at intimidating people, they got all the privacy they wished.

Even when Hermione took Sirius up on his offer of starting a joint therapy program for the wizards remaining in his care, the press stayed away for the most part- though there was more interest when the program grew to include wizarding families, five years later. Hermione and Draco decided to run it a few times a week, only when her regular muggle therapy students weren't on the farm, and during the off season; as Hermione had finally gotten Draco to agree about the issue of the children's safety.

And of course, speaking of children's safety, though Hermione had a time of it, little Mona Malfoy entered the world in perfect health. Her head full of dark curls and bright grey eyes peering out of a round, pink face. Her parents loved her instantly, even though her arrival was overshadowed just a few months later by the wedding of Harry and Ginny.

Hermione and Draco didn't mind the loss of attention too much, however, as they had their own set of brilliantly happy wedding photos sitting in a row along the mantle piece. Hermione looking divine in her modest, antique lace gown; and Draco looking so smug and proud in his dress robes, with eyes only for her, one hand sitting possessively on her rounded belly in every photograph. They'd gotten married in the garden in back of the farm house; with their closest and dearest friends all around them, wishing them well and smiling widely, despite huddling under umbrellas and newspapers.

It had rained on their wedding day, after all.

But, Draco had heard that was good luck in some parts of England…and so it was.

* * *

**AN: But wait, there's more! Epilogue to follow. Since, you guys know me, I love an epilogue. ;)**


	53. Make My Life Worthwhile

**Clearly don't own any of this, it's all J.K. and company's, and I make no money here.**

**AN: Epilogue!**

* * *

**Ten Years Later**

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stood outside the gate of the platform, watching eagerly as small groups of people began disembarking from the train. It had arrived ten minutes ago and he knew that his village was not a terribly popular stop, so to see so few people getting off now worried him. But they'd said they would arrive by this one, so he unbuttoned his coat, then buttoned it again, and had just begun undoing it once more in an effort to keep his hands busy when he saw them.

A tall man with pale blond hair, a shorter woman with frizzy, curly brown hair, and a slip of a girl- was she really only nine? She looked about six, she was so tiny. She had her mother's hair, no doubt of that. He started to raise a hand and the man turned and saw him.

A smile so wide he thought it would split his cheeks spread over his face of its own free will and he waved again. The man looked to the woman and gestured and then the woman was smiling at him, too, and all three were making their way down the platform and towards the gate, towards him.

"Dad!" the man cried as they exited the gate and then his son was in his arms again, for the first time in far too long. He cursed the ministry again for taking its sweet time in relaxing their hunt for criminals and their bigotry against former dark wizards. Their hunger for blood had kept him away from his son and daughter-in-law for ten years, and while it had been their choice, it hurt more than he could say. After all, this was his family. His flesh and blood. He already lived without his wife everyday of his life…

But no, this was a happy occasion, no matter what had come before. And they'd each made their choices, back then- good choices. The right ones.

He could see that now, looking at all three of them, bending down to greet his sweet granddaughter properly, seeing her shy smile as she took him in. The bitterness that swept over him from time to time melted away as he looked at them, and was replaced with the contentment he felt most often.

"And you must be Mona," Lucius said. She gave a small curtsy and then shook his hand, smiling at him.

"You're Luke," she replied and he nodded. "That's right."

"Mona, you can call him-"

"Grandfather? I forbid it," Lucius said, giving Hermione a mock glare, which Mona found incredibly funny and shared a giggle with her father over. Lucius' eyes traveled over Hermione's face and down to her rounded stomach. One brow shot up. "So, this is the surprise?"

"It was a surprise to us, as well," Hermione replied archly, though there was a hint of sadness to her tone. "After Mona we weren't sure-"

"All the doctors said-" Draco inserted, then hesitated as his daughter glanced up at him curiously. He put a hand on her head and smiled down at her. "Well, never mind that. Yes, this is our surprise."

Lucius smiled gently at them both. "I'm so pleased you've come," he murmured. "It's been too long."

"It has," Hermione responded with great feeling. Then she was standing on her tiptoes and giving Lucius a hug. Everything from ten years before came flooding back in a violent wave of emotion. He managed to control his traitorous eyes, keep them from welling with tears; to remind himself that they were here now, that they could be a family once again. The witch that had saved them all, even in her absence, shifted and held him closer, and he smelled her hair suddenly. He couldn't help rolling his eyes at his son.

Orange and juniper. Bloody hell.

Even though nothing would ever be the same; in ten years' time, nothing had changed at all.

* * *

**AN: THE END, MUTHA'UCKAS**

**Ok, time for my thank you to you all. You've been incredible on this fast-paced, reckless journey through Lumione, then Dramione land. Believe me, when I first started this story I intended for it to be a proper Dark!Hermione with Lucius and Draco being her sex slaves and Blaise and Ginny getting it on and everything. LOL Oops. As we all know, characters rarely do what we want them to. (I wonder if J.K. got to the end of Deathly Hallows and was like, well, shit.) Although maybe I'll have to write that version of events at some point. ;) At any rate, in writing things the way I have I've shared a part of myself with you all and you've responded in the most amazing, touching manner. So, thank you to you all for reading and loving it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's been one heck of an adventure and I couldn't be better pleased with how things have turned out. You guys are the best. Cheers! 2010 DRAMIONE AWARDS OR BUST!!!**

**My play list for the chapter titles:**

**1)** Light Surrounding You- Evermore **2)** Easy Silence- Dixie Chicks **3)** It Ends Tonight- All American Rejects **4)** Come Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy- folk hymn **5)** Lullaby- Dixie Chicks **6)** Iris- Goo Goo Dolls **7) **Forgiven- Alanis Morissette **8)** Everybody Wants You- Josh Kelley **9)** Lullabye for a Stormy Night- Vienna Teng **10) **Who Wants to Live Forever- Queen **11)** Love Will Come Through- Travis **12)** Born To Run- Bruce Springsteen **13)** With or Without You- U2 **14)** Come On, Get Higher- Sugarland (cover) **15) **Ordinary Day- Vanessa Carlton **16)** She's Always a Woman- Billy Joel **17)** Never Saw Blue Like That- Shawn Colvin **18)** A Song To Sing- Hanson **19)** Both Sides Now- Joni Mitchell **20)** (Everything I Do) I Do It For You- Bryan Adams **21)** Wish- Paper Route **22)** All About You- McFly


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